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"unshed" poems
I’ve been told I have walls, That aren’t too easy to break, They’ve been up for so long, That my smile is entirely fake. They’re made of unshed tears and a broken soul, Of emotions that have taken their costly toll. Tear them down if you feel you must, But it takes too much to gain my trust Strip me down to every pebble and stone, Shatter me like a mirror and break me to the bone, But don’t you see you’ve already lost, For even my walls have a cost.
0
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC
Walls
People show love in many ways A note on the bathroom door An extra brownie in your lunch box Starting the car on a cold morning For her it  was in her food She cooked her emotions the way most chefs add salt You could taste them clearly in every bite connecting your tastebuds to your heart, If she was happy the steak melted on your tongue If she was sad the soup made a tear glisten in your eye But when she was in love with me Every Bite sang in my mouth She made my favorites every night Life was good But one day the bread wasn’t so fluffy It held a melancholy note i’ve never tasted before I asked what was wrong but she didn’t have the words to explain what she as feeling, So I let it go That was my mistake Day by day, she started to crumble So did her pies She went from a wonder dancing in the kitchen and licking the spoon To a hollow shell serving you lukewarm pasta that left you unsettled I excused her behavior I was busy she was stressed The food was only cold because I was so late to the table I didn’t realize it wasn’t dinner I was neglecting It was her If i could change one moment in my life, i’d be that night The one where she finally felt up to baking again We had some time together, she hummed a bit as she stirred the batter But then she stumbled and dropped a glass measuring cup of milk she was holding It was bitter irony seeing the woman i loved, The light of my life, Crying over spilled milk That’d be the moment i’d change I’d catch her wrist and hold her up Just Like I promised I would I wouldn’t fail her if I had another chance Our kitchen is quiet these days There's a thick layer of dust everywhere except the microwave And around the edges of the room are tiny bits of glass Glistening like diamonds Or unshed tears, Abandoned like me But I can’t complain After all, I abandoned her first I should have read the recipe I should have realized she was breaking I didn’t see it at first But every bite held a piece of her suicide note If i’d only tasted it before it was too late Now she’s gone My hearts as broken as that measuring cup And I’m the one crying over spilled milk By Aknier     ~this is fictional~
0
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
Spilled Milk ~a long story~
People show love in many ways A note on the bathroom door An extra brownie in your lunch box Starting the car on a cold morning For her it  was in her food She cooked her emotions the way most chefs add salt You could taste them clearly in every bite connecting your tastebuds to your heart, If she was happy the steak melted on your tongue If she was sad the soup made a tear glisten in your eye But when she was in love with me Every Bite sang in my mouth She made my favorites every night Life was good But one day the bread wasn’t so fluffy It held a melancholy note i’ve never tasted before I asked what was wrong but she didn’t have the words to explain what she as feeling, So I let it go That was my mistake Day by day, she started to crumble So did her pies She went from a wonder dancing in the kitchen and licking the spoon To a hollow shell serving you lukewarm pasta that left you unsettled I excused her behavior I was busy she was stressed The food was only cold because I was so late to the table I didn’t realize it wasn’t dinner I was neglecting It was her If i could change one moment in my life, i’d be that night The one where she finally felt up to baking again We had some time together, she hummed a bit as she stirred the batter But then she stumbled and dropped a glass measuring cup of milk she was holding It was bitter irony seeing the woman i loved, The light of my life, Crying over spilled milk That’d be the moment i’d change I’d catch her wrist and hold her up Just Like I promised I would I wouldn’t fail her if I had another chance Our kitchen is quiet these days There's a thick layer of dust everywhere except the microwave And around the edges of the room are tiny bits of glass Glistening like diamonds Or unshed tears, Abandoned like me But I can’t complain After all, I abandoned her first I should have read the recipe I should have realized she was breaking I didn’t see it at first But every bite held a piece of her suicide note If i’d only tasted it before it was too late Now she’s gone My hearts as broken as that measuring cup And I’m the one crying over spilled milk By Aknier     ~this is fictional~
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55
This poem is dedicated to the fallen of the First World War, and also, to all those we have lost in the years since. - Somme Harvest - In the early morning Dawn of the fiery horizon, The sea of green caresses the land And gave it gentle kisses Of tender sadness. On this day many an unlived life would find Life in Death, but first must come Death in Life, Indeed, a bouquet of barbs grace the Dark, dank, ***** Halls of Morningstar, Servants go to and fro preparing the sordid feast Of unsung heroes. Babes in arms are they, who shall Ever sleep till the break of the final day. Fields of Flanders infertile, But for the harvest to ripen The fertilizer of life is Scattered, battered, tattered, Sown, Human manure, nutrient of vitality, It seeps into earthly soil. In the year of our Lord, One thousand, nine hundred and sixteen Did the farmers collect their greatest bounty, Not all farmers reaped massive yields, Farmers Kultur, Sickle and Hammer Fed their maniacal hunger with rotting corpses, While famers Lion, Bulldog and Bald Eagle Wept their hunger with mechanical eyes, Farmer Scythe, steward of Morningstar, Laughed dry, dead tears of hungry joy And sang the golden harvest song As his blade swam through the harvest thirstily, For indeed, the harvest was an endless Smoky sea of blood green And thousands were sailing. Twilight gleaming through the sky, The raging war god vomit’s dry thunderous wrath And wreaks barbaric, savage, ferocious, ****** carnage below, As sleeping Babes in arms fly through the red twilight. Vultures dressed in human feathers Gather and crowd around their congealing cold feast, With hatred sewn on their Lifeless, lidless Blind eyes, They shriek their throaty, ****** Thankless prayers to idle gods. A multitude of thousands upon thousands Of souls sour to the heights of Mount Olympus, Unshed tears, My child, I saw you in that dusky evening half-light, Flying, soaring and rising higher with your Brothers-in-arms. As I looked up at the darkening sky My heart wept warm tears of ebbing love, While my eyes forever dimmed the light, And my baby, My body became the Earth, The phoenix has nested.
0
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 6:04 AM UTC
Somme Harvest
This poem is dedicated to the fallen of the First World War, and also, to all those we have lost in the years since. - Somme Harvest - In the early morning Dawn of the fiery horizon, The sea of green caresses the land And gave it gentle kisses Of tender sadness. On this day many an unlived life would find Life in Death, but first must come Death in Life, Indeed, a bouquet of barbs grace the Dark, dank, ***** Halls of Morningstar, Servants go to and fro preparing the sordid feast Of unsung heroes. Babes in arms are they, who shall Ever sleep till the break of the final day. Fields of Flanders infertile, But for the harvest to ripen The fertilizer of life is Scattered, battered, tattered, Sown, Human manure, nutrient of vitality, It seeps into earthly soil. In the year of our Lord, One thousand, nine hundred and sixteen Did the farmers collect their greatest bounty, Not all farmers reaped massive yields, Farmers Kultur, Sickle and Hammer Fed their maniacal hunger with rotting corpses, While famers Lion, Bulldog and Bald Eagle Wept their hunger with mechanical eyes, Farmer Scythe, steward of Morningstar, Laughed dry, dead tears of hungry joy And sang the golden harvest song As his blade swam through the harvest thirstily, For indeed, the harvest was an endless Smoky sea of blood green And thousands were sailing. Twilight gleaming through the sky, The raging war god vomit’s dry thunderous wrath And wreaks barbaric, savage, ferocious, ****** carnage below, As sleeping Babes in arms fly through the red twilight. Vultures dressed in human feathers Gather and crowd around their congealing cold feast, With hatred sewn on their Lifeless, lidless Blind eyes, They shriek their throaty, ****** Thankless prayers to idle gods. A multitude of thousands upon thousands Of souls sour to the heights of Mount Olympus, Unshed tears, My child, I saw you in that dusky evening half-light, Flying, soaring and rising higher with your Brothers-in-arms. As I looked up at the darkening sky My heart wept warm tears of ebbing love, While my eyes forever dimmed the light, And my baby, My body became the Earth, The phoenix has nested.
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62
If my eyes are the window to my soul,   What do you see? Do you see the the pain   And the fears? Do you see the scars,   And the tears? Unshed, holding back everything. If my eyes are the window to my soul, Do you see the demons   Behind my walls? Do you see my shields   Ready to burst, to fall? Down, waiting for a push, a shove. If the eyes are the window to my soul,   Then no one is looking. They don't see anything,   How hard I try. They don't see anything,    Leaving my soul to die. Behind the window, behind my eyes.
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Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Window to My Soul
I’m stumbling through a black abyss, Surrounded by this nothingness, Mirroring the emptiness, inside my soul. Along the way I find a lake, A lake upon the path I take, And near the lake there lies a sign, Just before the water’s line. And this is what the sign does say ,The sign I find upon my way: “Here lies the gateway to the soul, So look within if that’s your goal.” So I kneel within this black abyss, And gaze upon the lake’s surface, My reflection meets my eyes, A face I do not recognize. And as I look upon this face, Despising she who took my place, I feel my anger over flow, And finally I let it go. “You ignorant and petty fool! You errant-minded, useless tool! Oh look at you, what you’ve become! Don’t you see how far you’ve fallen from?” My reflection does not answer me, Just stares back out so emptily, A sight that draws forth unshed tears, And rekindles all my greatest fears. “What happened to the face I knew? What happened to the real you? You are everything you once opposed! You are a fraud! And everyone knows.” My reflection simply stares at me, It does not move, nor answer me, Nor does it return my shout, It does nothing, just stares back out. “You are the reason for the emptiness! You are the reason for this black abyss! For everything that’s trapped me here! You are the face behind my fear!” Then looking down upon this lake, This lake upon the path I take, I realize it is no lake at all, Only a mirror upon the wall.
0
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
Untitled
I’m stumbling through a black abyss, Surrounded by this nothingness, Mirroring the emptiness, inside my soul. Along the way I find a lake, A lake upon the path I take, And near the lake there lies a sign, Just before the water’s line. And this is what the sign does say ,The sign I find upon my way: “Here lies the gateway to the soul, So look within if that’s your goal.” So I kneel within this black abyss, And gaze upon the lake’s surface, My reflection meets my eyes, A face I do not recognize. And as I look upon this face, Despising she who took my place, I feel my anger over flow, And finally I let it go. “You ignorant and petty fool! You errant-minded, useless tool! Oh look at you, what you’ve become! Don’t you see how far you’ve fallen from?” My reflection does not answer me, Just stares back out so emptily, A sight that draws forth unshed tears, And rekindles all my greatest fears. “What happened to the face I knew? What happened to the real you? You are everything you once opposed! You are a fraud! And everyone knows.” My reflection simply stares at me, It does not move, nor answer me, Nor does it return my shout, It does nothing, just stares back out. “You are the reason for the emptiness! You are the reason for this black abyss! For everything that’s trapped me here! You are the face behind my fear!” Then looking down upon this lake, This lake upon the path I take, I realize it is no lake at all, Only a mirror upon the wall.
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44
Night is but a word for the darkness that roams with men and the lands. The song of the winds sparkling with a woman's tears unshed. His blanket drapes her in the pitch of night. A cure basks within the lady's eye. Salt water. The tears, made salty by the churning sea. Cry the river dry. Bewail until all is nigh. The night is coming. The darkness foretold. Beware the madness with a daggers fine edge. Night may be just a word. But the wickedness is true within man's might. The sun will rise to cleanse the lands. Daylight breaks and the word changes. The faith of the worshipers dancing amongst the shining vivid rays. The danger has passed. Be still her fleeting heart. But be wary, dear maiden of mine. For the darkness of the night will soon befall again.
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Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Salt water
2 cups of insecurity 4 ounces of comparison 1 cup of dinner not eaten. 5 cups of a mind in shackles 6 tablespoons of incomprehension 2 ounces of oblivious peers 3 cups of dinner not eaten. 3 teaspoons of phantom numbers 2 cups of anxiety 4 cups of mirrors smashed to bits 1 pint of self-hatred 4 cups of dinner not eaten. 1 tablespoon of depression 6 ounces of anger 2 pints of hopelessness 3 cups of self-inflicted scars 4 teaspoons of ribs in the mirror 5 cups of fainting on the stairs 1 gallon of dinner not eaten. 6 cups of grieving families 4 tablespoons of words unspoken 3 teaspoons of tears unshed. 2 cups of dusty belongings 4 gallons of friends never made 3 teaspoons of kisses never stolen a lifetime of words left unsaid. Melt insecurity and comparison and mix thoroughly with dinner not eaten. Mix a mind in shackles, incomprehension, and oblivious peers and add three more cups of dinner not eaten. Crush phantom numbers and anxiety and sprinkle over batter. Take each piece of mirrors smashed to bits and poke them carefully through self-hatred. Mix with four more cups of dinner not eaten. Melt depression, anger, and hopelessness and spread them thoroughly throughout the batter. Meticulously place self-inflicted scars visibly on top of the mixture. Cover with ribs in the mirror and fainting on the stairs. Mix with one gallon of dinner not eaten. Haphazardly toss in grieving families, words unspoken, and tears unshed. Mix with dusty belongings, friends never made, and kisses never stolen. Gather a lifetime of words left unsaid in a separate container. Take it outside and bury it. Do not mark the grave site.
0
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
recipe for perfection
2 cups of insecurity 4 ounces of comparison 1 cup of dinner not eaten. 5 cups of a mind in shackles 6 tablespoons of incomprehension 2 ounces of oblivious peers 3 cups of dinner not eaten. 3 teaspoons of phantom numbers 2 cups of anxiety 4 cups of mirrors smashed to bits 1 pint of self-hatred 4 cups of dinner not eaten. 1 tablespoon of depression 6 ounces of anger 2 pints of hopelessness 3 cups of self-inflicted scars 4 teaspoons of ribs in the mirror 5 cups of fainting on the stairs 1 gallon of dinner not eaten. 6 cups of grieving families 4 tablespoons of words unspoken 3 teaspoons of tears unshed. 2 cups of dusty belongings 4 gallons of friends never made 3 teaspoons of kisses never stolen a lifetime of words left unsaid. Melt insecurity and comparison and mix thoroughly with dinner not eaten. Mix a mind in shackles, incomprehension, and oblivious peers and add three more cups of dinner not eaten. Crush phantom numbers and anxiety and sprinkle over batter. Take each piece of mirrors smashed to bits and poke them carefully through self-hatred. Mix with four more cups of dinner not eaten. Melt depression, anger, and hopelessness and spread them thoroughly throughout the batter. Meticulously place self-inflicted scars visibly on top of the mixture. Cover with ribs in the mirror and fainting on the stairs. Mix with one gallon of dinner not eaten. Haphazardly toss in grieving families, words unspoken, and tears unshed. Mix with dusty belongings, friends never made, and kisses never stolen. Gather a lifetime of words left unsaid in a separate container. Take it outside and bury it. Do not mark the grave site.
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27
With a blistered heart From unnumbered breaks, A cloud of unshed tears From untold betrayals, I reenter the world After an eternity or more Of self imposed asylum From a world of superficial bliss. A world unchanged! A cruel untended garden Of deceptive beauty And unkind thorny roses. Lovelorn shadows, Masquerading venomous claws With beauteous flamboyance And undesirable attraction. Lethargic feelings, Dousing my desires With drowsing memoirs Of countless emotional abuse, Causing momentary spasms In cerebral regions Parading nocuous images In the plenitude of projected beauty. Scarred beyond immediate cure, I recede from said world- Too adverse for tender hearts Back to hibernating moods To nurse evergreen cuts Cuts so deep, so lethal Only the indolent strides of time Can attempt to stitch! Awaiting prophetic moments Moments with mirage qualities When in-love I can fall again When a damsel I can trust again When my heart can beat again For one with pure intentions Not putrefied by Hollywood mentors *But virtuous in biblical ways*... © Raphael Uzor
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Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Love Asylum
the words i wanted to speak were stuck somewhere in the galaxy in my head. the voice to tell you hid in the black hole of my heart in dread. the waterfalls trying to descend from my eyes stay unshed. the stinging pain lingering in my heart for so long remains bottled. the undying love i could not control continues to burn in red. while you fall hard into the deep water instead. now the undying love i could not control shreds me to threads. if i had known it wasn't scorching fire you needed, but the soothing liquid you've wanted, i would not have refrained the falls from falling, i would not have loved you hard but calm, i would have let the blood of my pen drown you with the words i wanted to say but now they're all left unsaid and all dead stars in the galaxies in my head.
0
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
galaxy thoughts
My unshed tears Are flooding the hole In my chest...
0
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Drowning (10W)
Do you remember me? Do you remember the way you pulled at my hair The way you bit on my shoulder Legs Thighs Neck The way you hit my cheek And left marks of yourself all over me The way you flung money on my face The way you kept ******* me Even though I was asking, begging PLEADING For you to stop The way you screamed, "Work harder you ***** I didn’t waste money for you to stop" And the bruises you left When I passed out? I Am the girl From the Red Room of The ***** House. I Am the **** Who is ***** everyday But society says, "NO. It's all for the easy money" I Am the gold-digger Crying for people to stop. I Am the story Of eighty million **** toys Behind the Curtains less Doors of Pleasure for Men. No. We aren’t **** stars. We don't become famous for filming obscene videos. We are just some toys That men borrow Like a rental car. We are the colors The society talks about in hushed voices In the corner of a deserted street. We are the discarded clothes You never wore Because they weren’t good enough. We are the succubuses Of every man's dream. We are Pleasure And Lust And Money And Sin. But, We die a bit everyday. We have felt, seen and heard pain MORE than any one of you here. We are WOMEN. But no one holds a candle lit march for us When one of us is ***** Because "It's all for the easy money" Isn’t it? We are the Strippers, the Prostitutes, the ***** We Are the nightmares you never wish to have We ARE THE UNSHED TEARS OF A FORGOTTEN PAST. do you remember me now?
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Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
Do you remember me?
Do you remember me? Do you remember the way you pulled at my hair The way you bit on my shoulder Legs Thighs Neck The way you hit my cheek And left marks of yourself all over me The way you flung money on my face The way you kept ******* me Even though I was asking, begging PLEADING For you to stop The way you screamed, "Work harder you ***** I didn’t waste money for you to stop" And the bruises you left When I passed out? I Am the girl From the Red Room of The ***** House. I Am the **** Who is ***** everyday But society says, "NO. It's all for the easy money" I Am the gold-digger Crying for people to stop. I Am the story Of eighty million **** toys Behind the Curtains less Doors of Pleasure for Men. No. We aren’t **** stars. We don't become famous for filming obscene videos. We are just some toys That men borrow Like a rental car. We are the colors The society talks about in hushed voices In the corner of a deserted street. We are the discarded clothes You never wore Because they weren’t good enough. We are the succubuses Of every man's dream. We are Pleasure And Lust And Money And Sin. But, We die a bit everyday. We have felt, seen and heard pain MORE than any one of you here. We are WOMEN. But no one holds a candle lit march for us When one of us is ***** Because "It's all for the easy money" Isn’t it? We are the Strippers, the Prostitutes, the ***** We Are the nightmares you never wish to have We ARE THE UNSHED TEARS OF A FORGOTTEN PAST. do you remember me now?
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70
Crooked smiles breaking after midnight Diamond eyes sparkle in the electric light Running through through this modern town We own the night  As the lights dance upon our starry gaze Invincible we fly towards heaven bound This liquid silver runs coursing through our veins And gives emotions thoughts yet unbound And we sail ever toward the moon  In ships made of fine gold thread spun  From the suns last heavy sigh I look towards the sky And see innumerable burning seraphim Dancing dancing in this city's glow Of opportunities spread through our time And chances mistook for mistakes That led to a night of passion Dripping dripping with tears unshed We loved like lions and never once left Our cocoon of embers never shed I love I love I pronounced to the Unending ocean of dreamers lay dreaming As this body coalesced  And my soul intertwined with yours Forming a living breathing breath
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Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
Rave!
I'm roaring towards the sun, in an aluminum bubble. My spirit, lacks wings, to fly but there's a spoiler, fitted, to the silvery minivan's frame. So, we drive down the day... coldly harmonious, as it glitters back, in mild flashes. Memory, is stagnant; flecks of it shine, back, at me-- capsules, of captured thought, suspended movement... the world, itself, becomes gelatinous. The park, where I almost-- the long-absent faces, of growing boys, and girls, concealing toothy monsters. Unsung heroes, and wandering bards... Freezing sidewalks, slanting homes... places I knew, so well; they stand, still, and appear to register no change, and no difference. Christ, with his pale, pinned arms, and pain-stricken face, gazes down, on all these sins a placid totem, on his marbled cross... an overgrown snowdrop, crying mildly, into polluted grasses, below. A sweet song, emits from surrounding speakers and it becomes tangled, in its own chords. It breaks, in my throat, like tinted glass... and suddenly, my eyes, are full, of flooding, unshed tears. Their sorrow, needles at sore, spent cheeks. The rain, which pinks, soft clay is hard, and salted, and as it beats down, onto my skin, I can feel the sunlight working its gentle, tumble-dry magic, and finessing them clean, again. I turn my face, away to stare out, silent, through the unbroken window. I'm sobbing, harder, now, and I have no idea, how I started... or why, it won't stop... but still, the rain, rolls down shaky gutters; unrepentant, and unrepressed. The wild weeds, of the garden, are well-fed, indeed yet overwatered, beneath leaky clouds, and graying seams.
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Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:46 AM UTC
[Roaring towards the sun]
I'm roaring towards the sun, in an aluminum bubble. My spirit, lacks wings, to fly but there's a spoiler, fitted, to the silvery minivan's frame. So, we drive down the day... coldly harmonious, as it glitters back, in mild flashes. Memory, is stagnant; flecks of it shine, back, at me-- capsules, of captured thought, suspended movement... the world, itself, becomes gelatinous. The park, where I almost-- the long-absent faces, of growing boys, and girls, concealing toothy monsters. Unsung heroes, and wandering bards... Freezing sidewalks, slanting homes... places I knew, so well; they stand, still, and appear to register no change, and no difference. Christ, with his pale, pinned arms, and pain-stricken face, gazes down, on all these sins a placid totem, on his marbled cross... an overgrown snowdrop, crying mildly, into polluted grasses, below. A sweet song, emits from surrounding speakers and it becomes tangled, in its own chords. It breaks, in my throat, like tinted glass... and suddenly, my eyes, are full, of flooding, unshed tears. Their sorrow, needles at sore, spent cheeks. The rain, which pinks, soft clay is hard, and salted, and as it beats down, onto my skin, I can feel the sunlight working its gentle, tumble-dry magic, and finessing them clean, again. I turn my face, away to stare out, silent, through the unbroken window. I'm sobbing, harder, now, and I have no idea, how I started... or why, it won't stop... but still, the rain, rolls down shaky gutters; unrepentant, and unrepressed. The wild weeds, of the garden, are well-fed, indeed yet overwatered, beneath leaky clouds, and graying seams.
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69
Here is where my body lies fast asleep with much goodbyes unshed tears fill up my tomb just outside my mother's womb «» It's ok mom, to let me go God just didn't let me grow Daddy please, don't be mad They'll be plenty more to add «» A pained expression fills your eyes as you see me start to die You softly whisper in my ear I will always love you, my dear.
0
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
Let Me Go
Goodbye soft air Goodbye mother tree Remember my prayer Remember me The sky's arms Will hug me tight I won't be scared When I leave tonight I've lived a lifetime Full of sadness and pain Full of laughter and love And there lies no shame I am tired So tonight I sleep Rest my head on this pillow And fall in deep Goodnight bright stars Above my head Do not cry Keep the tears unshed There's no sadness in my heart Please I've woven theses Small piece together That had fallen apart Goodnight goodbye Rest my soul tonight
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Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:32 AM UTC
Goodnight, goodbye
he survives his story kept in boxes and knives the dread of forgotten runes keeps him company mother repression father night emptiness surrounded by invisible walls death a continent for the living I am facing this vortex of muted music with empty hands, despair and white hair no solace for the unshed tears everyday he tells me something about nothing
0
Sep 18, 2023
Sep 18, 2023 at 11:37 AM UTC
stories (2)
City of Blue City of Red Toilet rolls, none to be found The Sun at hand, ready to shred City of Blue City of Red Corona came And we brought out our dead City of Blue City of Red Standing together River of tears unshed Together in Joy Together in Grief Klopp went and did it City together bows to the Chief City of culture, red & blue City of friends & wits that's true As Lockdown lifts, the City awakes Stay safe & alert. For all our sake's...
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Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 8:42 AM UTC
City Of.
pain loves the present tense it loves gravity so that the clouds are turned into geological strata sometimes I use my hands like an anaesthetic between right and wrong the pain dillema: to feel or not to feel (the unknown) we discover clever remedies or illusions quiet cannery in the storehouse of flesh it comes in circles mixtures all kind of names it has rythm texture electric blackness each unshed tear an orb of contraction compulsive excavation of the void inside sometimes I feel I have canyons of salt in my heart on the edges of safety so much to learn about terror this pain is a blind Robinson on Hope island (with his bare hands he sets pyres in his heart) was it pain that invented this language, these holy wars? love you, hate you, nonsense, can't stand it anymore I know my father lied to me that he doesn't feel pain bodies in pain can't dream the water slide of life that might take us further away into the night of day time to say thank you, say farewell, love everything that simply is it is time to
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Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
time to
In the eye where I am where there's peace,(so to speak) I take out the album which I carry in a telegram and in those few stunted phrases, my heart again blazes with desire,full of fire and of want. This is punishment for me and I see retribution in these lines, times though be far are near as I wear out my eyeglass making pass after pass at the words on the clipped sheet in my hand, telegram and the full of memory man and the eye carries me on to the storm that levels all in its path, I shall weep for this no more,bring the winds and let them bore through me and the rains to swallow my tears unshed. I am led like the goat to the pipers of Pan. I am the telegram becoming the man and the album's a plan to destroy me,though the Devil employs many vices it seems that nothing is fixed and there's a swirling of voices which melt into one,(am i to be that one?) This saxophonic cacophony within which I am caught teaches me, what once before I was taught, I'm a prisoner in the dock and the black cap is on and the 'beak' up ahead says,'you're going to swing John' And the beggars and tramps and those bums that you meet on the islands of midnight where the ne'er do well greets you with,'lend me a dime' all make some time to come to the show where I swing to and fro and...look at my face all bloated and blue, (it's only make up,but what can I do,poor ******* I am) and the eye winks at me,winks at me as if I could see the joke in this,it is funny though, that one feels so tall as the trapdoor opens and you begin the fall but then it's snap, crackle and pop full stop dead end. telegram sent, I'm going home. stop. end.
0
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
Hurricanes and ice cream
In the eye where I am where there's peace,(so to speak) I take out the album which I carry in a telegram and in those few stunted phrases, my heart again blazes with desire,full of fire and of want. This is punishment for me and I see retribution in these lines, times though be far are near as I wear out my eyeglass making pass after pass at the words on the clipped sheet in my hand, telegram and the full of memory man and the eye carries me on to the storm that levels all in its path, I shall weep for this no more,bring the winds and let them bore through me and the rains to swallow my tears unshed. I am led like the goat to the pipers of Pan. I am the telegram becoming the man and the album's a plan to destroy me,though the Devil employs many vices it seems that nothing is fixed and there's a swirling of voices which melt into one,(am i to be that one?) This saxophonic cacophony within which I am caught teaches me, what once before I was taught, I'm a prisoner in the dock and the black cap is on and the 'beak' up ahead says,'you're going to swing John' And the beggars and tramps and those bums that you meet on the islands of midnight where the ne'er do well greets you with,'lend me a dime' all make some time to come to the show where I swing to and fro and...look at my face all bloated and blue, (it's only make up,but what can I do,poor ******* I am) and the eye winks at me,winks at me as if I could see the joke in this,it is funny though, that one feels so tall as the trapdoor opens and you begin the fall but then it's snap, crackle and pop full stop dead end. telegram sent, I'm going home. stop. end.
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22
I could know any of them in a dark room, eyes blindfolded, hands tied. How, you ask? One of them smells like fresh laundry, warm, like hugs, a tinge of unshed tears, a safe place to sleep. She smells like home more than anywhere I've been, when I can catch her smell. I have breathed this in for so long, sometimes it eludes me, the way I cannot scent myself, for an abundance of familiarity. It feel traitorous to try and describe how a second smells, that when she will never understand, but she smells like spontaneous gifts of friendship, and long sunlit days, she smells so much of herself I could never imagine her differently. Yet another scents the air in such a way I feel my lungs are bloomings, and yet are somehow contricting, like I cannot draw enough of this air, to breathe so deeply as I need. He smells of an accomplishment hard-won, but worth every step of the way, though there is a hidden bite, a concealed sharpness, an almost imperceptible tang. I cannot begin to think how to explain the intriguing way another smells, as I cannot quite place my finger on it. Much like its owner, her aroma is a woven tapestry, and so we see the complete product, but never the individual threads, a perfect work of art. And lastly, the one who often seems to have no smell at all. Spend some time around him, however, teach your lungs how to sense his presence, and you will notice he does not smell flashy or bright, his smell is constructed of strong undertones, complimenting and supporting everyone else, comforting like some people's idea of god. Sometimes I think if I could have my own particular brand of perfume all the time, I would be invincible.
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Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
My Own Peculiar Brand Of Perfume
I could know any of them in a dark room, eyes blindfolded, hands tied. How, you ask? One of them smells like fresh laundry, warm, like hugs, a tinge of unshed tears, a safe place to sleep. She smells like home more than anywhere I've been, when I can catch her smell. I have breathed this in for so long, sometimes it eludes me, the way I cannot scent myself, for an abundance of familiarity. It feel traitorous to try and describe how a second smells, that when she will never understand, but she smells like spontaneous gifts of friendship, and long sunlit days, she smells so much of herself I could never imagine her differently. Yet another scents the air in such a way I feel my lungs are bloomings, and yet are somehow contricting, like I cannot draw enough of this air, to breathe so deeply as I need. He smells of an accomplishment hard-won, but worth every step of the way, though there is a hidden bite, a concealed sharpness, an almost imperceptible tang. I cannot begin to think how to explain the intriguing way another smells, as I cannot quite place my finger on it. Much like its owner, her aroma is a woven tapestry, and so we see the complete product, but never the individual threads, a perfect work of art. And lastly, the one who often seems to have no smell at all. Spend some time around him, however, teach your lungs how to sense his presence, and you will notice he does not smell flashy or bright, his smell is constructed of strong undertones, complimenting and supporting everyone else, comforting like some people's idea of god. Sometimes I think if I could have my own particular brand of perfume all the time, I would be invincible.
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72
slowly falling in despair, we were never the perfect pair. i was willing to do anything but i remembered we weren't even a thing. you make my heart flutter whenever sweet words you utter. tormented by your fake love– i kept it hidden. unshed tears and pain inside i hid. sending signs of chaos from within, the line between us was so thin. i kept knocking on your walls. you're the future I crave for and i gave my all but then i saw you with her and you were perfect together. just like gravitation belonging to matter and not to ether.
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Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 11:08 PM UTC
never the perfect pair
To **** myself or not **** myself, that is the question I face an existential crisis every day I want to hurt myself I want to bleed, to wound myself physically because I can't deal with my mental The questions and thoughts that plague me every day I wish I could expunge these idiot things that run through my head The stupid ******* people that cause me grief every day Those people are the people I live with The people I love The people I work with Every mother ******* person I wish I could live isolated But not alone Live in my own colony of people that understand me as well as I understand myself I wish I could operate normally Not over correct for every ******* small iota of every tiny moment in the ******* day Why do I have to do everything to such an extent? Why can't I just be happy? Why can't I just sleep a peaceful slumber instead of tossing and turning for hours before? I hate myself But do I really hate myself? Or the circumstances that I face? This life I live is not the life I want I want freedom The ocean The sand to catch these unshed tears The cold to hit my face And something warm to embrace I want *** But do I want it for the carnal pleasure or for the way it makes me forget for a time these turmoiled emotions I deal with every instant of every ************* ******* day? I want a partner But I can't trust I'm so alone I'm so alone I'm so alone ******* I'm alone How do I fix this? How do I fix me? I'm so alone. No one will ever know the inner core of me. Someone save me I wish I were dead. Someone **** me I wish I knew real life. Human essence is the dirt of the earth. We destroy, We do not conquer. We forget, We all still suffer. ******* us all to the figment of our imagination that is hell. Every ******* one of us deserves it. Burn us in a firey pit and then crush our bones to make the cement that holds us all unwillingly together. ******* **** me so I don't have to **** myself. Nothing makes this feeling go away. No one satiates this gnawing numbness I feel. I am a black hole that devours every good emotion Nothing to replace it inside this empty space within me **** me **** me **** me
0
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
Internal Monologue
To **** myself or not **** myself, that is the question I face an existential crisis every day I want to hurt myself I want to bleed, to wound myself physically because I can't deal with my mental The questions and thoughts that plague me every day I wish I could expunge these idiot things that run through my head The stupid ******* people that cause me grief every day Those people are the people I live with The people I love The people I work with Every mother ******* person I wish I could live isolated But not alone Live in my own colony of people that understand me as well as I understand myself I wish I could operate normally Not over correct for every ******* small iota of every tiny moment in the ******* day Why do I have to do everything to such an extent? Why can't I just be happy? Why can't I just sleep a peaceful slumber instead of tossing and turning for hours before? I hate myself But do I really hate myself? Or the circumstances that I face? This life I live is not the life I want I want freedom The ocean The sand to catch these unshed tears The cold to hit my face And something warm to embrace I want *** But do I want it for the carnal pleasure or for the way it makes me forget for a time these turmoiled emotions I deal with every instant of every ************* ******* day? I want a partner But I can't trust I'm so alone I'm so alone I'm so alone ******* I'm alone How do I fix this? How do I fix me? I'm so alone. No one will ever know the inner core of me. Someone save me I wish I were dead. Someone **** me I wish I knew real life. Human essence is the dirt of the earth. We destroy, We do not conquer. We forget, We all still suffer. ******* us all to the figment of our imagination that is hell. Every ******* one of us deserves it. Burn us in a firey pit and then crush our bones to make the cement that holds us all unwillingly together. ******* **** me so I don't have to **** myself. Nothing makes this feeling go away. No one satiates this gnawing numbness I feel. I am a black hole that devours every good emotion Nothing to replace it inside this empty space within me **** me **** me **** me
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59
Paying the price Of indifference Sow a wind of despair Unshed tears are innocence When the reaper Comes looking to share Like proverbial sheep Led to slaughter Defiled, By an iceingdeath touch Vile ravens sweeping Blood in the water In fear I use faith as a crutch My soul is now bleeding I've been written off Death angels claws in my hair Lay still in the dark Try not to cough Then remember l really don't care.   Hy
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
reaper
they shine like angels fallen from above to tempt the eyes of frail men broken trail of wingless years eyes betray a lonely heart and hope to make it full at last they long like sirens calling from afar to turn a foot by fatal lyre faithless fickle hearts of men leave voids unfilled by unshed tears and ache to wipe the fears away they lay like harlots waxed and oiled primped and preened to light the hearts of fallen men and tempted, turned, take them away to darkness fill the longing, close the void break the long and hard divide but moments pass the deed is done and into stupor all undone the cracked and broken flee so we sit like demons teeth spread wide with a halo on the jaws of hell
0
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
angel demon
Oh, Woman He’s dreaming of your depth like a synergy of effortless truths your imaginary *** a mystical shore waxing and waning in violent tides of affectionate sap He would fly his kite running out of breath like a child blessed with forgetting puer aeternus He would spin the hours in laughter, in untamed visions and here it is... time revisited with gossamer touch the bestiary revised with tender beings making love  in the naked air in the breeze of forgotten forests in purple shy sheets in the miracle of tomorrow in unshed skins imagine the bliss of the first breath the dreams in geological strata She’s just waiting for your rhyme for you in primordial waters unborn now and again
0
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
feminine poetics (4)