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Anastasia C Mar 2017
When you love someone who doesn't love you back your world ends.

When you love someone who doesn't love you back you keep pumping love. You are so oblivious and eager that you give them so much love. No matter what they won’t give it back.

When you love someone who doesn't love you back. You feel nothing but absolute pain and sorrow. You feel like there nothing left except the love that won't be taken. Your love is so strong and there’s so much that it floods you.

When you love someone who doesn't love you back. You feel hopeless because of all the love you gave this person and how much you'd do for love in return. You'd give them all the time in the world, all the love in the world. You still do this relentlessly even though they wont give you five minutes when you need that five minutes.

Being in love with someone who doesn't love you back is a burning red pain. It's a pain like nothing else because no matter what you do, no matter what medicine or treatment you give to that pain it's still there. It's there when you see his face, hear his voice, remember his touch. It's always there.

When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you don't have to worry too much about them intentionally hurting you. That's because everything small memory you've over analyzed hits you across the face over and over. You're constantly hating yourself because this one person was so important to you and now he's gone. “I should've done..” “Why was I so..” “No wonder he doesn't..” Those thoughts are toxic and seizes up your body.

When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you get so ******* close to hating them. You hate that they've ripped you open, eaten you up and have left you to decay. You hate that they have let you hate yourself more than you could ever hate them. You hate them because of the things they gave you which weren't all good. And the things they stole. Like crying on their shoulders which they gave, but your pride they took.

When you're in love with someone for the first time and they don't love you back, you never want to fall in love again. You never want attachments with anyone because of this substantial pain that is constantly there. You never want to kiss with love, talk with love, witness love. You never want love unless, it's that one person you love. That's the only thing that matters. Love had a horrible reputation, it's either make it or ******* break it. Not take it.

When you're hurt by someone who can't feel pain, you wish you never fell in love. Never in lust, never started talking, never meeting. You wish you could erase their smell so you wouldn't ever have to think about why you remember it so well. You wish you can't vividly remember how their arms felt and how they were once so welcoming.

When you love someone who doesn't love you back, you are pathetic. You cry in bed while replaying your first kiss, first date, the time you fell asleep together. You can remember every feeling from the first time you felt love to the first time your heart skipped a beat because, well, it was ending. You remember the goosebumps running down your back when you last touched his hand as you left his car. That was the last time you'd be in his car. And that was the last time you touched his leathery skin that was wet from your tears. And that was the last time he would know how much you loved him.

You replay every memory over and over until they're worn out. And after they're worn out you can't ever get new ones. You love this person and you will for a long, long time. But they won't ever love you. They won’t get those stomach tickles when you hear their name. They wont miss having their chapped lips against your neck tickling you elegantly. Because to them that doesn't matter, they didn’t feel love.

When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, it's almost impossible to stop loving them. No matter what you do. No matter what they did. No matter how it hurts. No matter what, you will love them.

When you love someone who doesn’t love you back, you are incapable of stopping because you are paralyzed.
I am not feeling these things anymore, i wrote this after a breakup. This breakup was very hard for me, I never really felt worse in my life. The pain was horrible and I will never forget it. I hope to never feel this way towards someone again because as of right now, I don't want to love like this ever again. Theres so much emotion that goes into one person and it was so one ended for me. Ive grown from this and learned from this. l
Miguel Sep 2018
Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart

Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order

A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am

I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage

I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace
Tom Leveille Jul 2014
i always thought
you were thru traffic
that you were just jet lag
background noise
the kiss in the rain
i've never had
but what if you aren't?
what if this
was the thousandth time
i have loved you?
what if this is just a fresh coat of paint?
what if god
keeps a handkerchief
soaked in the day we met
next to his bed?
maybe theres a reason
i reach for no one in bed
the way i would
if someone used to be there
you know, they say
the road behind us
is littered with things
we couldn't hold onto
i wonder how many times
you've slipped through my hands
like hour glass sand
do you know
how much erosion you've caused?
i heard cupid
stopped keeping count
of how many times
we came together
just to come apart again
maybe it was just a rumor
it makes me think
about how many times
i've almost had you
like if all this talk
about history repeating itself
endlessly replaying is true
i wonder how many times
things have happened already
like the time
i tried talking you
into loving me back
back fired
or the time i could have sworn
jesus & lazarus were playing chess
with my heartbeat
but it was only you smiling
how many times
have i tried to tell you
how many times
have you read this poem
how many times
have i tried not to meet you
in my dreams anymore
it's like sleep tries to warn
me of what's happening
before it does but
i keep having this dream
where i tell you bedtime stories
and each one
is a different way you die
and in every one
i can never save you
it's like you're this song
i have on repeat
and every time it starts over
i forget the words
it's like you picked up the book entitled "us"
and the back cover
said you'd leave
so you never bothered reading it
tell me you aren't
going back in that bookstore
just to do it again
or will you tell me tomorrow?
or is this the time
you don't say anything at all?
if this has all happened before
if we call it quits
before we begin
again
from the beginning
i just want to ask you
to be my fire
because i am tired
of these old lives
and i'd like to see them
burn
s y kalindara Oct 2018
I've heard that distance makes the heart grow fonder;
but somehow it seems to me,
melancholy is the mislaid piece,
for the pangs in my chest
have only grown stronger.

Spread 3000 miles apart,
on separate time zones and continents,
your absence from my eyes
captivates my consciousness.

Replaying our memories
in an infinite loop,
my mind plays its tricks
to remind me of you.

As if I could forget
that spellbinding time we spent,
on the days and nights
right after we met.

Copyright © 2018 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Missing J.
hadley Apr 2016
everything about you
confuses my very circuitry
i cannot separate you from the ghost of my own self-hatred
one touch
a tease
a glance
nothing more to you, but every second after you walk away is spent
replaying replaying replaying replaying

sunday mornings come easily, but weekends slip away
like raindrops on a tin roof
monday comes
you and your eyes and your smile
may come, may not
depending on your boredom or need for validation

my circuits continue to replay replay replay
lighting up at the notion of you stopping by
i am wired and assembled for your very presence
the voltage crackles from my skin and i can no longer live in denial
i power off and resume my week, back into my nocturnal crevice
of life without you
life without a hint of your smile
life with a broken circuit, begging to stay

alive
~not my best, i just had to get him off my mind~
Gabriel Ibarra Mar 2015
You give me wrinkles worth having.
Even as I write this they are deepening.
I'm replaying endless memories of you.
Thinking of our inside jokes.
Remembering moments only you could make.
Without trying or knowing you can always make me smile
unfortunate Apr 2014
When people say
"music is life"
it makes sense
we allow our memories to live
within the music we listen to
so when we have a song on repeat
we're actually replaying the memories
over
and
over
again
so we will never forget
all the wonderful times
or the horrible, sad ones

{e.p}
Love Apr 2017
Anxiety is rocking back and forth at 1am like a small frightened child.
It's slowly pulling every single hair out of your arms.
It's biting your nails, and picking at your skin.
It's those tiny snaps that make no noise.

Anxiety is taking a curve at 110 mph.

Anxiety is my red hair.
Its the first thing that people see about me, and the first thing they assume is fake.

Anxiety is puking. Having no control over your body and becoming physically ill.

Its replying to a text message .2 seconds after it was received and then turning off your phone because you don't want to see the other persons response to your swift reply.

Anxiety is noticing. Its noticing the minute changes in tone, posture, manurisims and ticks, music choices when you are around, and how often they use descriptive words that could subconsciously be describing you.

Anxiety is failed medications, after failure, after failure, after failure, after failure, after failure. You become the failure.

Anxiety is a broken record.
Knowing that everything is fine, still panicking at the drop of a pin.
Its replaying conversations you've had with others over the mental dispute of one tiny word, even years after the conversation occurred.
Its overthinking.
It's constantly wondering if your hands are in the right position, if your resting ***** face is showing, or if you have a hair on the wrong side of your part.
It's locking the door, both locks, checking the locks, leaving, turning around and checking the locks again, leaving, and then turning around to make sure the iron is off.

Anxiety is not ordering food because you don't want to talk to the wait staff, nor eat infront of others because you know you will make a mess of yourself.

Anxiety is constantly being a clumsy fool. It's things you can't control and it's faceplants on concrete.
It's making plans in advance, way in advance. It's asking your friends what their plans for New Year's Eve are, even though it's only March.
It's wanting to ask a girl out on a date, even though you have been on multiple with her, and trying to schedule it two and a half months in advance.

Anxiety is lists.
It's remembering what time you brushed your teeth this morning, but forgetting the childhood story your friend told you 5 minutes ago.
It's repeating yourself because you forget your own words from 5 minutes ago.
It's looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger.
It's waking up while driving down the road, having no clue what's went on in the past 24 hours.

Anxiety is like drinking on a hangover.
It's mental, it's physical, it's psychotic.
It's seizures, it's palpitations, it's hospital trips with whispers of a straight jacket.

Anxiety is more than being afraid of a stage, anxiety is the downfall of me.
Paul Mar 2019
Over the bed a ceiling fan swings in
arrhythmic ellipses
pushing the hot air back onto a lone smoker from whose
yellowed fingers the snaking upward blue
smoke of burning
tobacco loops, widens and merges with the unseen
everything. What she said, what he’d done everything. all of it
replaying in a faltering loop of half truths
and deliberate deceptions
The grift finally worn through, the rubber shredded
the rim of the wheel titling on its axel and
scraping ruinously
to the this room yellowed by the by post-****** or solo smoke-filled
lungfuls of salesman, hookers, preachers, cheaters, the luckless
chancers, the gamblers, the grifters, the desperate, the deluded
the lost, the plummeting, itinerants of every stripe
lighting up with and breathing out with the narrow hope
of every fresh smoke archived on the wallpaper
To which he now adds, breath by breath,
thought by thought
Hope by hope. She has gone back to the world from which they’d run
A husband, a home, the wearying balm
of acceptable comfort
and now finds himself in an aftermath,
as in the denouement
of a minor character in a hero-free
subplot. Shaken
by his new status he turns on the rumpled mattress, stubs
out his smoke and tries to think of what comes next.
Tries to corals his possibilities, there was Tom with car yard
he’s give him work
there was Lucy, who once loved him, and single now
Instead, he light up again, sees the sheets strewn about his ankles
and warms recalling  how they'd named this the cellmate’s noose,
the way they roped around his legs during
their thrashings.
it was Funny because she'd done time, for years. And it showed,
in the way she assumed her role in the act,
face to the wall,
*** up, expressionless with silent jailbreak intensity.

He inhaled, and a ring of orange fire bloomed like some brief proclamation of hope or plenty. A short, bright clarion call
of a thought that stoops as soon as it stands.
He exhaled. The open window frames a field of empty blue sky from which frayed curtains, flap and seize with sudden and passing forms, pleasurably meaningless, and under the window
in a shadowless heat outside, a dog, limp with thirst, laps at the drips that drip from a pipe.
GraciexJones Nov 2018
Diving into my insecurities,
Replaying the same mistakes
Unfolding memories from the deepest crease,
Mesmerizing the unforgettable words
Reminiscing over faint situations
Tears trembling down my face,
A wave of nerves tip toe down my spine,

Tearing my mind into pieces
Thoughts are scattering around,
Blemishing the good thoughts
Peeling away the flesh of my sanity,
Revealing layers of my anxiety

Losing sight of what’s right
A misunderstanding of my identity,
A willingness to be distant
From the people I love dearly
skylitup Jun 2012
This is the colour of my anger:
A white hot searing fever
Tearing through my veins like amphetamine;
A surreal dream that keeps replaying in my brain
Over and over again...
Life is pain enough
Without other people
Making it tough. Guess I ran out of luck:
Top of the class and surrounded by  dumb *****
Whose only qualification is knowing how to trigger
The ticking bomb I've strapped on
In my anger.

This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ******* colour

This is the colour of my anger:
This weird red mist with its fingers
Coiled around my brain,
Blurring my vision as I allow it
To make my decisions
For me. Again, it hands me the gun, then runs,
Leaving me to get the
Damage done. Well, aint this fun?
Three, two, one, and it’s time to take cover
I won’t get any sleep
Until I’ve shown you the colour
Of my anger.

This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ******* colour

This is the colour of my anger:
A smouldering orange lava
That laughs at the wrath of the sun,
And I feel like the risen Son
As it pours out of me, heavenly,
Reducing everything in its path to the
Sum of zero
But this is just a fraction of what it’s capable of.
Hot and full of hell is my fury. ****'s getting gory.
It's time to remove the canker.
No more bluffing, I’m all in -
Let the games begin
With my anger.

This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ******* colour

This is the colour of my anger:
The cloudless blue of my eyes
As I admire my workmanship,
Reflecting upon the new *******
That I have just ripped for you.
My smile spreads from ear to ear, like a slit throat,
Beatific in my ecstasy as this anger drains out of me.
The adrenaline that pumped so furiously
Now dumps its load in me, bringing me to my knees.
Enough, I say, as I see how small you stand there;
Let's call it a day, now be on your way,
Just remember the colour of my anger.

Don’t ever
****
With me
Again
a dedication...
Madalyn Apr 2015
I still can't get you out of my head. I try to ignore the feelings but once I lay down to go to sleep
I start replaying that night and I yearn for more like it
Left Foot Poet Mar 2018
cellphone to heart, mobile to immobile, electric dead to living

you know that sleep and I are but passing acquaintances,
when it drops in, to heavy my lids, it is through a cracked window slivered, just enough for a Pan boy to grab me and away me to Almost Neverland

when the alarms sound that it’s sleepy time,
(quite like that quiet verse)
no time to delist the “those pre-shluffy to do things,”
cell drop upon my chest, like an open mic,
then the raging observatory tapestry begins!

the cell lies directly above my ventricular chamber,
and communication is live, the brain cutoff switch, well, cutoff

all manner of imps, devils, rejected poems, angels and
Greek gods and some Indian as well, stand in line for to make
free calls via a beating human message call center, utilizing my friends and family verizon plan to register complaints,
close out unfinished biz, or just contact, friends, family or other
mischievous imps or even you, in other time zone worlds

though my brain may not interfere, like the CIA, it records all
conversations and give me a list of new poem titles, notions, stories glories and wrenching heartbreaking heartbreak,
requiring “fleshing out” when I awake from my three fingers
of scotch, glass eye tears drops made me drunk,

damning this transmigration chorus of voices that offer up a treasure of divine humankind’s hopes and travails,
and the occasional call on the divine’s 1-800 confession line,
hear it all, my chewing out by one particular god of mine who does not suffer my criticisms well of his ungodly actions, nope not sweetly and

when else would he dare contact me, except when no edgewise
words of mine can appear to contradict his mealy mouth excuses

did you musty misty mistake  my poems  as the product of
the miracle water wages of my imaginary inspiration,
no, not, from the replaying of your desperate exclamations,
the cancerous shrieks of loss and prickly investiture of the aesthetics of soft whispers and solitary foot treads,
that is where my insanity is bred, and tumbling s-words, sworn

don’t consider it eavesdropping as there is no signed rental agreement, consider this unfair warning, if you should secret use my cellular line, your everything is now ******,
your genetic material is materialistic mine and my poems yours,
this bittersweet sentiment is a measure of our bloods commingling,
your tears and impish silliness, are shiny hidden within mine

somehow I feel compelled to state this unique statistic:

I love you

4:47pm on 3/11

who writes poems like this?
silly old boys with gray hair, standing on one left leg.  but you knew that, right?
Vanessa Dec 2014
The images I see
Are nothing more than daydreams,
that keep replaying.
Sweet melodies reciting words that will never be said.
LS Martin Aug 2017
I think you kissed me in a dream
Though darkness falls I stay awake
I search my mind replaying scenes

Amazed at what my thoughts create,
unsure if your the man I've seen
I think you kissed me in a dream

Sleeping becomes a passing theme
I do not care to see day break
I search my mind replaying scenes

Your eyes lit up like moonstruck beams
The stars, then took you by mistake
I think you kissed me in a dream

I fall into a new routine
With slumber now a distant ache
I search my mind replaying scenes

Kisses collapse into smoke screen
Even bright stars disintegrate
I think you kissed me in a dream
I search my mind replaying scenes
Keano
5/6/00 3:49 PM
I am transcribing this mornings’ writings.
It is 11 a.m. I have been naked all day.  So many windows to look through, both physically and in the mind.  
I have been near silent the whole time I have been in this house.  I find it so strangely familiar here.  It fits; it all fits in the mysterious cosmic way I have yet to discover.
*I am a person who visits ‘his house when he is on trips.  And here I find myself on a trip or two indeedy.  The house, thought 1, I love his style.
It makes me think of what I want for myself.  There is fantasy and reality to indulge in here.
Reality is the space and freedom.  Space for all things special and ordinary.  I miss space and order.  He has all the thought provoking areas of interest of a real home.  The colors are rich, deep blue, burgundy, and browns, all used in an artful mix of styles.  Oddly pondering here because I would choose many of the same pieces myself.  Every room has space for dancing, which I have done naked a few times here now.
Everyone else is watching big screen movies.  I am in the other living room on a big brown leather couch; still naked, touching all of ‘his things with my body.  
I awoke this morning to the sound of the modem.  I swear it is the perfect alarm clock for me!  You know I get excited every time I here the perfect connection.  
My dreams were vivid awake and asleep because ‘he is on a trip and I am sleeping naked in the master bedroom.  There is the possibility he could have come home at anytime.  I had spent 6 hours already that night naked in his home without his knowledge.  Everyone is used to me being naked when we come stay here.  I don’t want to put clothes on here, in this house.
It is not the people around seeing me naked in the yard sunbathing, or running around the big house with big windows which have no coverings btw.
It is the space and atmosphere that draws out my facets.  This space sparks my exhibitionist in a feisty way. * All the ***** massages for me to relax and enjoy, just being papered to highs. *  
The white leather couch and a 60-inch screen for movies- others are sitting in the chairs and on the floor.
One joins me on the sofa.  Everyone is watching a movie, so am I when my eyes are open.  I am on the couch on my stomach, with a pillow under my hips and my head.  My legs spread wide, there I am being touched inside and out constantly.  I moan, open my eyes and see the many eyes on me and the ’s.  I close my eyes and smile and say “watch the movie you guys geez”, giggle, wiggle and moan again.  The surround sound covers some of my whimpers.  
As soon as the movie was over I walked to the master bedroom and turned on the light.  HIS clothes, files, and suitcases were still on the bed.  WoW he really could come home.  I wanted that bed!
-We- cleared the bed and I jumped in the middle and put ‘his pillow under my ***.  I don’t know ‘him, but I love his style and I wanted to *** on his bed and pillows.  The fact that I come here and stay naked all over his things excites me, and he has no idea.  And yes, I came all over the master bed, we ****** madly!  I know the others heard my bells and chains clinking at a feverish pace.  I listened to the sounds ‘his bed made.  I fully enjoyed his headboard, grabbing his oak poles, feeling each one up and down, as I was getting closer to coming.  Ahhh my hand finds a broken bar, I think how it must have been broken by ‘him doing what I was at that moment.  That moment I came.
My mind was so in this “space”, that after we were spent I jumped up and ran to the pool.  Everyone else was still wake and followed me outside.  Skinny-dipping after hours of pleasure is the best recovery!  Wooo Hooo!  
I was the only one naked – still, I didn’t mind and neither did anyone else.  They were announcing to me when the pool jets came on, giggles, they wanted me sitting on them.  A wind picked up and I went inside, everyone followed me in.  
We all watched Eyes Wide Shut, and then everyone went to his or her separate rooms.  
I took ‘his room, I love the big space, the many doors and windows all left open, so nice and free.  I stood beside ‘his bed and slowly dropped my chains and bells beside his slippers on the floor.  I sprawled about on his sheet and fell into a light sleep.
I was dreaming that there was a camera taking pictures of me, while I was replaying in my dream the real conversation I had with ‘him the night before.  He was asleep on the phone, I called and he never fully woke up to give my message to his roommate.  I listened to him breath, and I spoke quietly to him, softly and sweetly, he spoke back a few times and then I hung up.  But in the dream I was having it was *******, and I was talking in my sleep, in ‘his bed.  What a twist of cosmic ways.  With all the dreams: of the snap shots and the discovery of me in his bed, ****, alone and moaning **** me.   In my dream I was saying it, and I know the other people in the other rooms could hear me speaking my mind in my sleep.  The rooms are close by indeed.
Awoke by the modem with 5 hours of sleep, I was stiff bodied, yet excited to wake up in ‘his bed.  It was 8:30 a.m. I rolled over and moaned loud enough to draw attention to myself, knowing it would work .
I kept my eyes closed and softly said how sore my ribs and back were.  The hands of the night before returned to rub my body once again.  After a few minutes of morning massage, I smiled, giggled and rolled off the bed and darted to the pool.
Naked morning sunshine, I love it, jump in the pool and by the time I got fully wet the coffee came to me.  Everyone was eating breakfast poolside while I skinny-dipped my body into a limber state.  After breakfast everyone jumped in the pool with me, but I was the only one naked.  We all swam for 30 minutes or so.  I spotted the lounge chair and decided to sunbathe Seconds after my body reclined, the hands and oil came to pamper me once again.  I was spread out in full view of all in the pool, getting slicked up al over, with oil and such.  It felt great inside and out, I didn’t care that everyone was watching me get my ***** satisfied.  I was vividly aware of where I was, out in the open space and the freedom of space, as I thought my *** rose in the air and my body twitched repeatedly.  I heard the voices in the pool, and felt the sun on me as I came hard, right there in front of everyone.  Hell, I needed help getting up off that chair, and an oiled hand took mine, and led me to the master bedroom.
The master’s bed now has oil on the sheets and the headboard, and the wall.  I left myself all over his things.  He will know some of my essence whether he knows it or not, I will.  Here I sit naked in his den loving every naked minute of it.
I am back from being oil girl.  Being bent over people spreading glistening oil on nakedness, my *** got a lil bit to much sun!  I go to the master bedroom again, everyone is still poolside.  I try on things, because they are left out on the bed.  You know how I always ask what a mans' favorite pair of pants are?  Well there was 501’s in my size, I couldn’t resist sliding him on me, loving how they fit my ***.  I went back outside and paraded around showing how good ‘his pants fit me.  “Do you have underwear on?” I was asked, I laughed and said no.  I got an odd look from the people.  I danced off to the bedroom and put them back, knowing how he fit was enough.
Right now I am sitting outside writing and a camera is pointed right at my *****.  So I shall stand up for a few shots.  I got up and stood on the table and spread for some close ups, ****, ok enough sun, my **** are red.
After delivering a few drinks poolside, I return to ‘his bed, laying on my belly, thinking, pen in hand.
I hear the shower turn off and I close my legs, I feel the wet drops hit my back, as he sits on my legs.  He is holding them together with his weight.  I feel the oil hit my back, sliding down the crack of my ***.
The lower back massage becomes two bodies sliding against each other.  At first his hands slide between my tightly pressed thighs.  My hips grabbed and lightly lifted, raising my *** in the air, yet tightly holding my legs together.
A breath on my neck touched me at the same time he entered my ***** once again.  My pen never left my hand.  I was focused.
I go for a smoke and jump back into the pool, knowing its time for me to leave soon.  As I enter the main room, in just *******, I pick up my lotion and start putting it on my arms.  Hands from behind gently take the lotion and begin putting it on my sunburned back.  I defiantly feel the fact that I have ******* on as the hands reach my lower back and slowly pull them off……
This was my first husbands last attempt to keep me as his wife by taking me on a weekend to his friends house with a pool.
The story is very telling that my mind is truly not on present, but on what is not there. By saying this I almost ruin the erotica of it..but the psychology of the the story is rich too..
I wrote that day and the next paragraph by paragraph, each hour or so.
Who else was present is everyone who always saw me naked and saw it as no big deal. I was a nudist, they knew it. Its all very true...
Vanessa Oct 2014
I knew the day would come.
My heart swelled and shattered
Like glass off of my ribcage,
It was nothing but dust now.
In an instant my heart became soluble.
Without warning,
my heart was inevitably yours once more.
I wanted you to never come back
I hoped you would make your home in Boston.
My delicate heart was not ready for you so soon
And I was not ready to give my heart away.
Especially to you.
But she ran from me,
Slipped through the cracks in my rib cage
and ran straight for you.

So here I am still sitting in silence
Still replaying impracticable situations
That will never become reality.
My heart is long gone now,
She always ran faster than my head.
With a mind of her own,
I am now heartless
MS Lynch Jun 2013
Sweetheart silent killer manifests all inside my mind,
The moon’s a magnifying glass as it rises in the sky.
At 2 a.m. it giggles, a thick knife in its teeth,
And drops it down into my head as I lie underneath.
The glass I keep so carefully to remain ***** in the day,
Shatters and releases a burning, breathing self-assay.
A kaleidoscope catoptric, all frets out in the free,
A band of thought-filled thieves invade to steal my sleep from me.
Tossing and turning beneath the stars, I’ll wait til I burn out,
At night my brain is flooding and in daylight there’s a drought.
Lullaby myself with tears, wake up way too late,
Stuck as an insomniac, suicide’s sweet bait.
I wish I was an autumn leaf, I’d float into the sky,
And every fall I’d have the opportunity to die.
I don’t want to die, I just want to dream,
Instead of replaying my sick realities that make me want to scream.
But this will still all stay the same as my brain and blood run white,
I’ll feed myself with Satan’s sugar, the depressed primrose of the night.
Ankit J Chheda Nov 2012
I can’t seem to shut the noises in my head,
Replaying all the words said,
I’ve been trying hard to avoid it all
From the moment the fight began to the end,
But this friction is wearing me out,
It’s making me sad and crippled,
I feel like I am dying inside,
There is no safe place to be,
All these egos clashing,
All these talks of unfulfilled expectations,
Everyone wanting the other to be as per their definition,
The putting on of fake mask in front of you,
To hide what I want to say in fear of another riot,
Inside I fight myself to be what you expect,
Outside I act like what of me I feel other’s expect,
I’m a loser in the race of what people decide is best,
Of what people think is fun and what they think everyone should have.
I fear I’m not like metal, which bends to the smith’s will,
But I’m like glass, hard enough to sustain the weather,
But ready to break when the blow strikes.
A toast! To
My gentleman ghost, my friend,
Though in the daylight his daunting form I cannot see
The perfect host he is me.

At night he makes his way down the winding stairs,
As master of the house he has no need to put on airs.
He asks ,”if there’s anything I need or lack” and offers to take my coat and hat.
Though no form in the flesh to addressed I see,
A cold and imperceptible hand he extends to me.

Of each room in the house he gives me a guided tour, then bidding me good night,
He, slowly behind him closes my chamber door.
His dense footsteps fade against the rickety aged floor until deafened by the dead silence I can perceive them no more.

Late in the night I hear him roaming around,
Doing whatever ghost do and making moaning sounds.
But he’s considerably polite not to wake the town,
Ah, yes my gentleman ghost friend.

As all about me is settled and still,
Suddenly, with this melancholy and melodious sound the chilling air all around me fills.
For somewhere in the house in some adjoining room
A grand piano plays a daunting tune.

“TIS some clever guest who plays”, I hastily presumed.
So I rush down the stairway by a single candle lights flare,
Just to reach the distinct place only to find that no one is there.
Yet, as though possessed by some invisible entity the piano it plays,
By this display alone I am bewildered, spooked and amazed.

Suddenly, a hazy yet discrete specter I clear as day could see
Of what seemed some distinct gentleman sitting with his back facing me.
By the light of a candle I draw closer to get some better clue,

“Ah, my gentleman ghost friend (I sigh in relief) clearly it is only you”
Slowly, he turns to face me and asks “by chance, do you play”?
Therefore all that evening in the company of my gentleman ghost, as his guest I did stay.

To the first light of morning I awakened rested and yawning.
Still replaying in my head like a dream from the night before was that melody so hypnotically charming.
When besides me on the table I find a little note, in the hand of my gentleman ghost
And this is what he wrote, “I regret I cannot join you, I’m afraid I must decline,
Since I never appear in daylight and I rarely ever dine.
So, at this heavenly spread set before me I am left to dine alone,
I am left without another friendly face before me, or pleasing voice to set the tone.

Shut up in this old house, with each passing moment I spend.
He stands there in the shadows waiting, on my comforts eager to attend.
Like a fog gliding down that staircase, he with ease descends,
To demonstrate some token of friendly gesture his kindness to extend

His footsteps though, I cannot trace, but his presence I can feel.
I never see him throughout the day but at night he appears at will.
Among the living a kinder soul to me has never been,
None came as close to even surpass in charm or civility to that of my gentleman ghost, my friend.

In time this house has come to be my home though empty it may seem,
Yet this it makes up for the times spent alone with misplaced spirits that it brings.
And now these corridors haunt us together, my gentleman ghost and I,
As we both wait to play the perfect host to whomever come stopping by.
Jack Thompson May 2015
A love is special.
A love is unique.
But love is not.
I hope.

Forever tormented by the thought.
You took my love.
Uniqueness that can't be bought.
This feeling I had with you gone.
Forever lost and never retrieved.
My hearts passion truely deceived.

Despair swelling at my ankles.
Searching for love like before.
You punish me with shackles.
They've left me feeling cheap.

An artist without creativity.
Coloring with no feeling.
Incapable of sensitivity.
This image of replaying moments.
Plagiarism of my emotion.
A different person and yet.
My heart of thoughts - only confliction.

I want them to be special and unique.
This wall turned insurmountable.
My problem has come full circle with no solution.
Uniqueness ripped clean surgically.
You took it all perfectly.
Even these words you've taken from me.
I'm left with no choice.
You'll not have my voice!
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
A B Perales Jan 2014
I was raised
on the ways of
the Wolf.
I applied these ways
to the best of
my ability.
Only to be set
loose to live amongst
the sheep.
Where
my ways were
considered savage
and unreasonable.

I turned to
the Poppy
and the *****.
I was insearch
of a temporary
sanctuary from
the  past misdeeds
replaying
themselves
inside my head.

Only at a later
age did I come
to understand
these wounds
that still
bleed leave
trails full of
wasted years,
lost lovers and
forgotten
hopes
and dreams.

I counted the
Black and Whites
as they passed
me by.
I tried to
melt into the
crowd.
The vigilance
and anger in
my heart refused
to walk amongst
the live stock.
For I was raised
as one with
brother Wolf.
I needed to
run on the outside
of their
invisible bindings.

I died everyday
for 3 years .
I pulled
from the *****
then turned to
the poem and
discovered
a new way
to torture
my  mind while
healing the heart.

I dropped
the mask I
had wore
for so many
of these
theatrical
years.

I set about
revealing hearts
blood and fractured
bone.
I ripped the
inside of
me out and
presented it
as treasure.
Only to find
the masses
are indeed
too much
like sheep.
Never
understanding the
manners of
the wolf....
Esther Dec 2018
They say photographs are precious
Because they remind you that once upon a time
Even just for a heartbeat
Everything was perfect
Looking through my phone
I don't have any pictures
From some of the best days of my life
Because i was too busy dancing in the sunset
Pressing lips against the people i loved the most
To remember to pull out my phone
And snap a picture

Those moments are engraved in my brain
Locked inside my heart's deepest chamber
Melted into every ounce of my soul
Replaying in my wildest dreams every night

I guess the best place to be alive
Is in each other's memories
It's the warmest feeling
An eternal smile on our face
Fingers intertwined
Heartbeats synchronised
Under the stars
On the beach
In the sunset
At the mall
In your bedroom with too little space
With the air on
Cuddling to "The Notebook"

I guess
We are immortal in each other's memories.
I live in your memories.

@3:18am
11/10/18
Her Mar 2019
what is PTSD they ask

it’s not knowing which
way is right or left
it’s not knowing how
to maneuver your own mood swings
it’s trying to find your way
through a dark maze during the night
with not an ounce of light to guide you

it’s suicidal tendencies
it’s never thinking you’re enough
it’s thinking you’re *****
it’s thinking you’re useless
it’s thinking you’re used
its thinking you’re undeserving

it’s icing people out at the second
you start to feel emotion
it’s numbing yourself to the world
it’s laying in bed
it’s not being able
to move your body
for days on end
because the pain
strikes to the bone
it’s aches

its going a year out of treatment
and you were strong
until the anniversary month roles around
and suddenly you are a glass house
with stones being pelted to the core

it’s lost years
years of life I may
never fully remember

it’s nightmares
the gut wrenching ones
that night replaying
over and over and over

but most of all

it’s guilt
for not being able
to save my 7 year old self
Selena Irulan Sep 2013
I've never met a person who could make me angry as quickly as you.
But when I need someone to make me laugh unexpectedly- you  do that too.
Mom always told us, when we were certain we couldn't be related,
That we'd never stop needing each other. A sibling couldn't be traded.
We often joked that hospitals switch babies all the time.
But deep down I knew, that even with your very worst parts, you were mine.
It's been quite awhile since I heard you laugh.
I find myself replaying conversations wishing they would last.
Missing all the things so uniquely you
Wishing I'd known sooner that what Mom said was true.
You're more like me than either of us could have known.
Now I see that losing you is like losing my only way home,
Because I have a connection to you unlike any other.
It was unavoidable. You're my Big brother.
iambruised Oct 2016
and all these years
they told you that heartbreak would be
not being able to do anything;
crying most of the days;
not being ok for a long time;
being able to hear the sound of your heart breaking;
'the heart break syndrome', they would say.
'time heals', everyone promised.
'this too shall pass', everyone whispered.
'it will strengthen you', they encouraged.

what they did not tell you
was that
heartbreak would make you do the unthinkable.
crying on your bathroom floor during shower.
muffling your crying on your pillow.
trying to explore yourself.
meditate, read books, watch movies, writing.
waking up with puffy eyes.
and have to go on like nothing happened.
lock yourself in your own room at night when you get home.
laying awake staring at the ceiling.
counting on what you did wrong.
replaying every scenes.
endless pool of tears -
those kind that make you really tired;
not the sleepy kind of tired,
but the 'God-please-end-this' kind of tired.
praying to God to please just end this
for you cannot take more pain.
asking God on what you had done wrong in life
to deserve this kind of pain.
do i even still believe in God?

they did not tell you that heartbreak
change your perspective in life.
that it would feel like you are suffocating;
unable to breath.
where is the air?
even when you sleep,
you wake up and dreaming about him again.
the desperation to end it;
that you would google
'how to deal with heartbreak'
or the desperation to ask people for help.
but you know it's useless
and you don't want to be a burden.
or when you hear others telling you about their relationship
and you can not even give them any advices anymore.
'i used to be so good at giving advices', you think to yourself.
but now not anymore.

they did not tell you that heartbreak
would make you numb
when you are surrounded by people.
the way you get yourself throughout the day
and do the daily routines
laughing,
do random things,
being weird;
'you are still the same old you even after all these things', they would say.
'no i'm not', you tell yourself.
even when your heart is broken
or the way
you would act like you had never got your heart broken
or the way
others would tell you their problems
and you have to act
like you are okay
and you have none

they did not tell you that heartbreak
would make you feel this useless
like how you suddenly think of
'i am so broken'
and yet you could not
even think
of telling anyone
because of how pointless it would be
'what's the use? they don't get it like i do', you would think.

they did not tell you that heartbreak
would take this long to heal
'time heals', i used to say
'this too shall pass', i used to tell my friend.
but now
i am not so sure anymore.
time heals, they say.
*well, i'm still waiting for the time mine would heal
R May 2013
It's four o'clock in the morning and I should be far away from this bed
in the land of dreams where anything can happen

Yet I still lay here, replaying your words in my head over and over again
and memorizing each dreadful sentence you spoke

You are a writer, and I guess that I am too
but my thoughts can't pour down onto paper half as well as yours do

Not only can you write though
heck, you can even talk

I've listened to you speak of your hopes and dreams, your past and sorrows
and to be quite honest, it didn't matter what you spoke of

Because every single word flowed out of your mouth so beautifully that I was mesmerized
even if they were words that I didn't want to hear

I... just don't think we're right for each other at this point in time.
Don't you understand? Don't you feel the same way?

Of course I understand.

I knew all along that I would never be good enough for you
a person of such beauty, such wisdom, such potential

I think you're beautiful and have so much potential for greatness but I don't think you see it.

Beautiful?
I am not beautiful

I am scared
scared of life and everything in it

I am empty
my heart feels as if it has shrunk down to nothing and I'm numb

I am unworthy
there is not another human being on this earth who could ever be satisfied with someone like me

I'm sorry.

Now, with the tears pouring down my face
I realize that I hate myself

I hate myself for never being good enough
or smart enough, or beautiful enough

But most of all
I hate myself for knowing that I deserve this

*Goodbye...
What a ****** night.
Makayla Jane Nov 2018
I haven't done it in a while,
But seeing the faded outline of my friends,
The scars that make me feel calm,
Made me want them back

I used to run my fingers along the cuts
As if I was reading braille to soothe my head;
Because I felt like those fresh wounds,
Were my only friends along with my blades

Those blades and the scars that accompanied them were something I could count on,
No matter how bad my day was I could cry all night
And sit in the bathroom mirror and talk to myself as I stared into my own eyes
Letting my blade dance across my skin,
Leaving a beautiful red trail;
The stinging sensation that came after that turned into the blissful pleasure,
That wonderful feeling I once loved was something I couldn't remember
Until today;

I wasn't even sad at the moment
It was just something my mind drove me to do out of sheer nostalgia
Because seeing the faded outlines of my scars
Counting each one replaying the night I created them
And remembering how close they were to me and that they were once my friends
Brought it all back;

So I threw a little self-harm depression party once again,
I created this little get together
And invited those old friends and demons of mine
Where my blade once again danced
And my scars then cried red;
Where I stared into my dark chocolate brown eyes
And let tears of my own claw their way out;
Where I smiled and laughed, talking to myself saying how much I missed the stinging pleasure
And relapsed again for the first time in a while

I thought about how what I was doing was something so wrong
And I told myself I was sadistic for laughing because I missed the sensation
But my god does it feel so right
I guess that's why so many people
Do all these things that slowly **** them;
Just as I do with self-harm...
I apologize for my actions.
Feel free to share revision ideas :)
Crystal Dawn Aug 2014
A little red fire truck
Given to a boy
Who knew that little fire truck
Would bring so much joy?

He plays and pretends
To be putting out flames
All the kids on the street
Want to know his name

He loves his little fire truck
He hates to put it away
But mother says he has to
Tommorow is another day

A little red fire truck
Sits untouched
Over the years
It's collected some dust

The boy now is grown
Going through some old stuff
And at the bottom of a old box
He finds a small truck

He remembers the fun he had
Playing in the floor
And can't recall the last time
He wanted anything more

He sits for a moment
Replaying all the memories
And smiling to himself says
",You know, life's about the little things".
Crystal Sacco
August 13,2014
angele Dec 2018
i miss him. everything about him. his hands on me.
his kisses.
at least i can remember the last time we kissed
the last time we hugged
and it all makes me wanna cry.

i want him. i want all of him. his love and affection. looking at his face and into his beautiful beautiful eyes. the lull of the silence which was so perfect.

i want to be his again.
i want him to be mine
but he already belongs to another.

i keep replaying it in my mind, over and over and over.
i didn’t know it was the last time.
did he know it would be the last time?
it was a thought stuffed into the back of his mind- always there-like the crumpled up pieces of gum wrappers you stuff in your pockets.
or maybe he didn’t.
i don’t know
it doesn’t matter now
i just miss it.

i miss you.
Enyo Aug 2017
"Why don't you
~Smile~
More?"

I wish I knew how many times
those words left people's lips
to slap me in the face.

I want to tell them everything.

About how I stay up reading
until the words blur and fade,
because I hate being
alone with my thoughts
in the dark.

How I over-analyze
EVERYTHING,
every mistake
replaying, replaying, replaying
like a broken record.

How I can't breathe
before another imagined scenario-
unrealistically good or bad-
pulls me under.

It all comes back to
the writhing, swelling ocean
of my brain, but
I shrug and say
"I guess I'm just
tired."
The sun sets,
But I lay awake,
Thinking about the last few days...
I wonder what it means?
Is it all in my head?

Replaying our conversations,
Thinking about your smile.
So many questions,
Not enough answers.

I wait for tomorrow,
Hoping to see you soon.
Waiting for another chance,
To be besides you.

The simple things you do
Mean the world to me.
Most people would overlook them,
But not me.

Hopefully you'll notice,
See how similar we are.
Notice our connection,
And give it a try.

Stop being oblivious,
Realize the signs...
I know you feel it too,
You don't need to compromise.

We can talk for hours,
From the simple to complex.
We don't have to do anything,
And be together all night.

You're so confusing,
Give me a sign.
Tell me there's something ..
Or if im waisting my time...
Wolf Irwin May 2014
Positive through the derogatory,
I use the light as my allegory,
There's a happy ending to this sad story,
**** happens so no need to worry,
You can face it there's no need to escape,
Or spend time replaying the tape,
There's still time as long as you wake,
If you never give up then its never to late,
Fight for love, fight for love,
One mind devine from above,
You should be happy just because,
High on life with a nice buzz,
Love life and it'll love you,
Thats just a fact I know is true,
Theres nothing more that you can do,
But let go of hate and just be truly you.
k e i Jun 2017
red car, yellow car, blue car, white car

no lucky black car, no orange to wish on

they just sat there for awhile on the edge of the rooftop, feet dangling looking at the rush of cars passing by playing the game they invented and derived from the tongue twister red lorry yellow lorry
if a black car passes by, luck will come through
spot the first green car and you pick the way you die
look for an orange car and make a wish

it was a game they played to **** time or whenever they went up the rooftop of the ballet studio they've been performing at since they were children and they were currently taking a break from swan lake rehearsals. they played the game for a little more though heather could tell that megan-meg for short- had her mind somewhere else.

"penny for your thoughts?"

meg just shook her head, tilting it across the pink skies that matched the tutus they still had on. a dreamy smile was strewn across her face

heather just watched her friend and the world surrounding them, a light gentle bubble in her stomach. she loved the building's rooftop so much; she was actually the one who first went up here and ever since then, it had been their place her place. she went here on weekends sometimes, when they didn't have rehearsals. everytime she was up here, she felt more than she was, like she was a goddess and everything below her was under a microscope like she could change anything with the click of her fingers. but most of all, in here she could freely be. it was her safe haven.

"okay spill tell me this isn't about hendrix again?"

meg smirked, looking at heather's ice blue eyes "okay you caught me" she says, traces of the english accent she had come with still evident in her voice

"i knew it. boy he's got you in such a haze. you've got a school girl crush on him" she teased, making her friend giggle nervously. meg was dating hendrix peters, a senior in the high school they were attending. theyve been seeing each other for six months now and heather knew how much of a ride it was almost as much as meg (being the first person meg ranted to everytime things occurred) the two were a match made in heaven and it was testified by the amount of gossip about them that was circulated, mostly by the senior girls who were head over heels for him and would hiss whenever their paths crossed with meg's and try to flirt with him every chance they got though he politely shook them off. he supported meg in all the possible ways, from attending to her performances on stage to supporting and showing off her stunning makeup looks and she did the same with him, coming to all his football games and enthusiastically cheering for him. they were madly in love, you could say

"it's not like that" meg scoffed, clasping both of her hands together. "ive just been thinking about the both of us and our togetherness and how we haven't done it yet and yea it's been in my mind alot" she bit her lip, a habit of nervousness she had "it's not a big deal i know, i mean, people do it all the time, people who aren't even together and it's not this eureka moment or anything of the sorts but i want it to be special at least"

"has he been asking you to do it?"

"no he doesn't really no, forcing there" meg shakes her head "but we did talk about it some time, once, thrice yea"

"someday then or tomorrow just be safe my dear friend" heather replies in a playful tone, trying to bring back the lightness of the conversation

"ugh help me practice my skills give it all to me darling, let me do you" her friend wickedly retorts, launching atop her and pinning her to the concrete, playfully mock *******

"ew dude *******'re so gross get off me" she says trying to act annoyed but she was laughing too all the while trying not to get crushed by meg's weight who was strangely heavy despite her small wiry frame

"ow babe im coming ugh" meg continues, laughing fooling around-this was how their friendship worked

"*******. now your germs are all over me" heather grunts, finally pushing meg off her and both of them just lay there for minutes, laughing too much and choking in their breaths, as the sky was bathed in watercolor above them, the sounds of the city being their soundtrack


"what's it like?" heather blurts once theyve both calmed down

"hmmm?"

"what's it like, being with him?"



meg raises her hands like she was touching the clouds, taking the question in deeply "it's....wonderful....i mean...we aren't always happy and we have loads of fights but....we manage to make it work and the whole thing drives me crazy but it's a good kind of crazy"

her answer dissolves in heather's thoughts are completely lost in it


"you know that when we first got together i told him how much i hated clichés? flowers, chocolates stuffed animals, fancy dinner dates you name it and he nodded and the first gift he gave me was a boquet out of makeup products and i laughed because it was thoughtful and he's just full of surprises but you know he did give me flowers and letters on an occasion but i didn't mind it.
i guess that's how love is, made out of all the things you love thrown in with things you don't like but you don't mind at all"

heather nodded, still deep in thought "how did you know?"


the question seemed to have an incomplete thought but meg got the gist "i just did. well i didn't know itd last but i did know that he was for me but he's not my soulmate see, you don't find soulmates, you make them. anyone could be your soulmate, soulmates are just a ****** up idea at finding love. someday you'd know kid"

heather rolled her eyes. she hated being called kid because she was reminded of how much younger she was from meg when it came to these sorts of things "don't call me that"

"you'd know" meg pats her friend in the head, lovingly still teasing her

she sits up, tying the ribbons of her satin slippers. they climb down the fire exit and join the rest of the ballet dancers, rehearsing for the rest of the day



and heather went back to the rooftop the day after, a saturday in solitude sorting out the contents of her brain, replaying the conversation she and her bestfriend had in this very place the previous day, all the while feeling a sort of feeling in her heart very familiar to nostalgia. she realized it was the feeling of longing. longing for love like meg's description of it. longing for love like the glow of stardust. longing for love
sure she had a boyfriend before but not once did she feel like how meg described love out to be with him not once did she feel like their kisses and hugs mean something and their fights never felt worth fighting for. sure she had this guy in her grade whom she passed notes and looks with and texted for days but it was never serious and he didn't see her in that certain light that makes people glow that you fall for and even if they dated it would have been too complicated.

it was a winding day for her mind to wander and she played their game as the cars went on their journey on the highway down below.

an orange car swooshes out of nowhere and she closes her eyes and makes a wish when my person comes please i hope i'll know, holding on for a beat more. after that a black car passes and her luck was aligned with the stars
im going through stuffs rn
ugh my brain is so sloshy
Taija May 2017
I just can’t stop thinking about you. I swear you are like a scratched record replaying, replaying, replaying, the same part. You are always there in the cracks & crevices of my mind, my body, & my soul. You have become a part of my life; a part of me. Even when my heart is crushed into thousands of pieces, beneath all the rubble & debris, the sound of your lips curling to form the words ‘i love you’ will still be playing.

t.h.
dumbdeadpoet Sep 2015
i shouldn't have to clench my jaws when my feelings get hurt. my teeth are shattering at every fake smile i give when i have to look into your eyes and watch you look away. you touch my spine and you say 'have a good one'

i keep scraping my elbows for you.

band aids don't fix broken hearts. i peel them off but my wrists still bleed. i have a bad habit of scratching and scratching and reopening the cuts that you have made and trying to close them up trying to love myself.
how much of your life have you dedicated to leaving?

to the point where i rather have you than pass all my classes

you can't put a ring on it if my fingers are broken.
just because you like the idea of my hands doesn't mean your heart is attached also.
would you care if i broke my arms

i hope you rip your gloves again
i hope you cry over me

how are you doing without me?
how long do i have to be gone for you to finally miss me

i love and don't lie



you've become another story.

that day,
i wanted to break the glass in front you i wanted to scream in your face and beat your chest i was literally going crazy for you i walk out and i will never understand why you don't just understand that
'you can't break a girls heart and not expect her to go crazy about you'
why is time moving so slowly...

and i was wearing bandaids on my wrists and i peeled them off and put more on and peeled those off too and put gloves on and tore them and threw them away and put more gloves on and i couldn't stand and couldn't sit and couldn't keep working and couldn't...
the same song keeps replaying in my head.

i'm fine until i think about it. i hate you
you make me want to throw everything away

nice men don't cheat
and nice men don't lie

at nights i set my alarm to 3:30 to see if you will text back
it's 5:45
tuesday september 22, 8:30 a.m. i almost called you.
10:16
10:35
10:49
10:58
11:02
11:10
11:12
12:31
and then i lost track
i don't want to talk to you anymore


i haven't forgotten your birthday. i'm sorry for not memorizing your number.
i still have your pictures on my phone. i still get nauseous when i miss you
how could i let go of something so precious
i can still hear your accent.
i find myself saying the same things you used to tell me back when you still loved me the same song keeps replaying in my head
when i think of you my body hurts.



she only likes me cause we're not together
tell her i knew before you knew

sometimes i never want to see you again
i hurt you by leaving.



here's to pay your bills:


i'll forget about you one day. i promised i wouldn't

'text me when you make it home safely'



now i don't dress when i get home from work
now i sleep with my guitar
i wear my hair different

this is the closure we never had
from today on, every angel i will ever come to know will have a memory of you attached to it.

it takes two weeks for my wounds to heal. by the time i am done with this, it would have been two weeks. and this won't hurt anymore. and i will stop bleeding. and the cuts on my wrists will finally close. you were not a bandaid. you could never be a bandaid. i am sorry you couldn't close the same wounds you caused. i am sorry that it is hard to swallow. and i am sorry for apologizing for things you haven't done.
by the time you get this i would have listened to your voicemail 33 times
i do this for revenge
and i will never say goodbye


this poem is not incomplete. i just like to leave you uneasy. have a great life.


p.s. everything that i have written in here has been subject to what i felt at the moment. please do not think that i hate you.

p.s.s. it took me days to write this and i love you

p.s.s.s i wanted to get you a watch today

p.s.s.s.s you don't wear watches

p.s.s.s.s.s happy birthday



i love you

i love you
Nicole Joanne Mar 2015
spring cleaning in the form of blasting your bands music
while i pick up the clothes that smell like him.

spring cleaning in the form of replaying the day I walked away
over and over in my head as if to erase all that happened afterwards.

spring cleaning in the form of taking all the poetry I wrote about you,
and scrambling them up to mean something entirely different.

spring cleaning in the form of endless shampooing,
to rid the touch of your hands from my hair.

spring cleaning in the form of disposing all memories made in winter.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

— The End —