"unexisting" poems
"I love you , but you made me!" You say as you slap her across her beautiful face.
All the had "done" was speak to an old friend.
She speaks her mind or speaks at all and you beat her when you are alone.
She wants to leave you but every time she stands you shove her further down then before.
You're
the reason she started that dreaded habit, and instead of holding her when she's is in pain you beat a once strong and unharmed girl.
You tell her you love her
The only love you have for her is that you love to BEAT her when she is herself.
She gives younger everything.
She makes you her king.
And what does she get in return ?
Your fist on her once unmarked body.
She has to cover herself because of the marks you leave on her.
But she's not just your punching bag she's your *** slave too, huh?
In your mind you can have her bruised body whenever you say.
When she tells you no you call her mean , horrid, demeaning names.
But you love her , after all the things you've done
how DARE you use the word we hold to the most high regard
She is smart , beautiful , sweet , caring , loving , bubbly , and outgoing
And you crushed every once of respect she had for herself and her opinion on how she deserves to be treated.
But she's gone now she left you FOREVER.
because love NEVER existed here .
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
love is an ugly flame.
it burns your insides and you feel so hot
and excited.
it shows on your face when you blush.
i remember when you gave me such a flame,
but after all your mistakes and hurtful remarks,
you surely blew it out.
i am just an ember towards you
for you ruined me.
you cannot relight an unexisting candle
so please don't even try.
please don't try.
-k.m.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
It was an object of futility to remain unloved,
The only emotion worthy of our otherwise meaningless existence,
Forced with a first kiss, intimacy then adoration,
Beauty lying in the speculation,
Taunting us with it's ugly judgement,
The promise of a world that was written as unmoving,
A moment established on deciept
It was unexisting and were fools.
The allure of which we were all captivated by,
Was not the moment we shared, the touch, the ecstasy,
But the weightless instant after,
The silence we were left with when everything fell,
When the naivety had thawed under the heat of passion,
And we were left only with ourselves,
Because after all, we would die,
And we would die and decay alone,
With only our desolate last moment to comprehend, to reason existence.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
A dead soul matters the most,
as there's no one else that
can force you preserve and cherish memories better and truthfuly.
You hesitate to erase them.
Even if you lack the visuals,
you'd create some mirage joining the
missed and uncovered notes.
You'd tell stories from the
almost unexisting backyard of your mind and with all the more excitement,
which probably you never shared,
when they were still breathing.
Those you plan on to create,
have the spark of undefined.
You might surpass undefined,
that'd be the extent of your love.
If dead man looks back,
he'd be proud and smiling,
You think alike those irrational dreamers.
Don't you ?
You talked about existentialism and vagueness in things like how
intransient life and death embrace closely,
with warmth and shivering pain.
Times when you had cease to exist
you'd not think about them
and they may not recall you anymore.
Perhaps everything beyond life is irrational, sliding the thoughts in your
subconscious carefully,
not with a hint of expressing the urge of exploring.
The taboo between you and them
why not in life you seek the same comfort
of randomness,
you wish but you fail to organise the terms
And patterns.
Just now I think what a corpse would feel when it reads my Art, probably
The dead man Smiles back and says
"I may fade with time,
my flesh may blend with soil
but I keep on living with those who know my story ".
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC