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Mikaila Jun 2013
They tell you it gets better.
I will tell you the truth.
I am good at telling truth
And bad at being heard.
I hear your sorrow.
I see that your blood
Trickles like tears
Like mine.
I'm telling you what they're afraid to say
Because they don't want you quitting.
Selfish little children,
Tell you your pain isn't valid,
That it will flee if you wait.
Darling, I saw it in your eyes.
I heard you break.
And I'll tell you, I wish you'd seen me.
Back when I was being told what you are.
"It'll get better, time heals all wounds."
I wish you'd seen me raw as a skinned ****,
Fresh and ready for chopping.
I wish you'd seen my eyes when my guard toppled and I was truth.
I'm telling you now,
My truth,
And I think it's yours too,
Heartbreak Girl.
They're lying to you.

Don't be discouraged, don't be sad,
You've gotten through
You're getting through
The worst.
But they like to say-
Them, they, the people who care but don't know-
They like to say it goes away like a cut scars.
We both know about that, don't we,
Heartbreak Girl?

They're lying to you.
What happens is this.
Healing happens, yes, healing
After a fashion.
But not in the way you want it to.
Healing from love is not healing from injury.
It's not a broken arm which can be set and cast and grown back
Like new
With only a little crack along the edge
Fixed with a pin or a *****,
A stitch or two,
And a pale shiny line along the place where your skin
Parted ways with the rest of you.
No, love like this,
Broken love,
Heartbreak Girl,
It doesn't heal quite right.
It's like the old man down the street
Who was shot in the war,
And they had to cut his fingers off.
Little stubs left behind,
That feel like they're whole but they don't grab like they used to.
He loses things.
Not big things, not always. Not everything. Not life.
But it's never the same after.
That is what losing a love is like.
A heartbreak isn't a break,
It's a hole.
A whole hole that means you'll never be...
Whole.

It's something you find that time doesn't treat the way they all say.
Time Heals All Wounds.
It's a true statement, in essence,
But not literally. Not in actuality.
What time lends is distance.
Takes a lot longer than you'd think-
Just ask that old man-
To learn to live without your hand.
I'm giving it to you straight,
Heartbreak Girl,
You'll live again. You'll walk again.
But you'll always have a limp.
See?

It will feel like they all lied, all that time.
A long ******* time.
Longer than you can respect yourself for taking
Over some stupid boy
Who broke your heart.
A long ******* time,
And you'll be ashamed,
But you'll just keep on
Keeping on.
And if you do that,
Heartbreak Girl,
One day you'll find you have learned
To live around your loss.
Because it's not him you miss,
I promise you that.
You think it is, but it isn't.
You miss the you that you became by loving him.
And that's a very personal loss
Deep.
Tender.
Right down to the marrow,
And it takes TIME
To even wrap your head around the damage you can do to yourself
Over somebody else.

It's like that man in the commercial
The one about quitting smoking.
Ever seen it?
He sits down trying to have his morning coffee without his cigarette
Day after day
And he can't figure it out.
Pours his cream on his pants
Dumps the sugarbowl instead of spooning it in.
Tries to drink the stuff without using the handle on the cup.
He's a mess,
Heartbreak Girl.
He's you.
He's me too.
Trying to relearn everything we used to do
With that love of ours burning in our fingers.
Love makes you an addict
Loss, a *******.
But you learn.
At the end of the commercial,
He takes a sip,
And he smiles, and I always smile too,
Because that means that if you keep going,
Inch by inch you'll take your life back from this loss.
It's dumb, but that commercial always meant a lot to me.
It was on,
Heartbreak Girl,
The days when I couldn't eat for missing her.
When every moment was made of fear
That I would see something that would tear me open and make me miss her
Make me re-realize that she was over
(And so was I.)
(The me I loved, whose ghost I still look at in the mirror behind me.)
(The me I never got to say goodbye to before she died.)

I'm giving you the facts, Heartbreak Girl.
Time isn't medicine.
It's not nepenthe.
It's just time.
Time for you to learn and grow and become stronger,
Stand up again and say,
"Okay. I lost him. I lost me.
But I will create a new life."
I won't be one of them
The people who care so much
That they lie to you that you'll be
Good as new.
You're already new,
New and old.
Damaged, wearier, a little worn around the edges of your soul.
You're mourning,
Heartbreak Girl.
Mourning the loss of an innocence you didn't know to treasure
Until you lost it.
That you are
angryscaredhurtbetrayedamazed
You will never have the chance to relinquish of your own will.

But
Heartbreak Girl
Like that man down the street with no fingers
Who learned to play his guitar a new way
Like the one in the commercial
Who took his first sip of coffee and realized he hadn't lost his mornings after all
Like me
When I held a funeral for myself in my back yard
Trying to let go of loving her
When I finally, a year and a half later,
Woke up with a smile on my face and allowed it to stick around for a while.
Like us,
You will have your day
You will make new music
You will take that sip
You will accept your loss
And find a smile
Because there is,
Heartbreak Girl,
So much to smile about
When you have lost so much.
Andrew Rueter Jul 2017
My transcendent transition
Brought by my ****** ambition
Became my personal religion
When I gained a monk's chastity
All my pleas just came back to me
My prayers remain unanswered
Like someone dying of cancer
An inept bow-legged dancer
My skills are useless
My bites are toothless
My eyes are youthless
When my face has been strained
By the energy that was drained
On this ceaseless journey
To sate my ceaseless yearning

They don't look like the pictures they show
They only choose the photos that glow
They're so afraid of being alone
Willing to lie
To lure unsuspecting prey
And trap them in a spider web personality
But webs are useless against grander creatures
And become an annoyance
When all the wildlife
Can only see silk
And get itchy in the effected areas
In our minds we build barriers
In our hearts we grow wearier
Searching for someone to hold us tight at night
Someone that looks right in the light
Someone that helps fight all our plights
Someone to give that tranquil transition
Into that peaceful loving condition
Moet Kogano Oct 2015
skin gets thicker
eyes get wearier
covered with fats,
a sight gets glitter

a bad breath, a good breath
i don’t care
a good man, a bad man
i know it’s fake

dancing with the time as a carnivoran
dancing with the time as a carnivoran
Susan O'Reilly Apr 2013
Ach, a delicah constitution, have I

me auld bones are getting wearier

if somebody sneezes I have a cowld

its getting worser the more I get older

I can’t get a dacent man

but I’m looking as hard as I can

I’ve got a little piece of land

so for a dowry he’d be grand

See, since I buried my first two

it’s not easy to get a beau

and these day’s I’m not such a pretty view

I can be a bit contrary

and my moods oft vary

but unlike my sister Mary

I haven’t got a tash long and hairy

I don’t need any of that *** stuff

I can tell ya that for nuttin

Its help around the farm I’m huntin

I can make a dacent cup-o-tay

and I’m handy at baling the hay

so if your up for a bit of honest toil

and your humour don’t make me blood boil

Come marry Teresa Rafter

when I’m gone you’ll live happily ever after
The Noose Sep 2013
I would drag my soul to a better place on my own but I seem to be stuck in (my) cement.

I'm lost in a sea of confusion, regret and hopelessness
I can’t face that fatal drop
Life could be amazing

A profound sense of fear, that completely erases all my hope.
I need that reassuring gaze of yours to make it all melt away.

There's a gaping hole in my chest  from when I ripped my  own heart out
How was I to know I would bleed endlessly

Throw me some rope, grab my hand and never let me go
The road is wearier and you're all I've got
Micah Alex Oct 2016
Some years later, they will look back to this time and ask how we did not see it,
What we cursed, ridiculed and cut away would become our only saving grace.

The effects would manifest only as humanity started getting wearier of the destruction it had wrought on itself,
Tired of nuclear winters and oxygen-less atmospheres, water-stressed economies on the brink of downfall

And in those days, stories would come from different and remote parts of the world
Of people made of miracles, walking around in daylight, unclothed in hazmat suits and around whom the world seemed more friendly

And the scientists will run to these 'saviours', desperate for hope, desperate to save their once dominant race,
And then they would study them , hair to toe, and they would find their worst fears come to pass

Years ago, Humanity was crazed by a trend to cut away seemingly useless parts of themselves,
These 'useless' parts would now offer a new lease of life to an historically arrogant species

And they will then  build shrines and temples to the Appendix,
The vestigial ***** that pulled humanity from the brink of extinction.

And the people who shunned appendectomy as a sin will reign supreme,
Rulers of a kinder world.
weird dreams
Lindsey McCarty Jun 2010
Will we ever see eachother eye to eye?
Or will everything you told me turn out as a lie?
Everywhere I turn, I see your name, it's on the wall.
Too weak to bear this heartache, my hope begins to slowly fall.

Hope for happiness has vanished, nothing to look forward to.
Wearier to discover my love was but a joke to you.
My whole body begins to shake as I imagine a life without a guide.
I still feel the spark between us, even after you cheated and lied.

I'm beginning to notice all of this is a game you've created inside your head.
I set my heart to every lie you fed me, believed every 'I love you' said.
As I wollow, becoming more hopeless with every shortened breath.
To careless to live, awaiting for the day of my welly yearned death.

My dripping wrists are being scraped with this tiny shard of rust.
So this is my alternative to our passionate lust?
If pain is all that gives me drive to live.
I'll pick up every scent of my blood and breathe it all in.

I've replaced the moaning and pleasure for sobs of agony.
If only you did care that soon, you'll be the death of me.
Exempt from a heart beating in my chest, I start to drift away.
Her whole body, numb and broken, getting sicker everyday.

No one cares for her goodbyes, as she prepares to leave.
Her only choice was to die without love, or so she did believe.
With bloodshot eyes, and her soul still shading rotten.
Her red blood goes out to the girl this cold world has forgotten.
Jacinda Norman Sep 2014
Understanding
There is a fine line, between willing and understanding
the clueless hole left in your soul is grappling for the spark that once lit your heart
while you whistle nonchalance to the sea of faces that crash through your life like a broken wave
Because understanding is not done without willingness
and these problems you see so clearly in front of you honey, they don’t exist
not to them no, they don’t exist.
Those promises whispered in-between sheets late at night remain there, woven in the cotton that you have forgotten with the bite of yesterday’s dawn.
They implore you they do, presenting lies disguised as childish riles
and your bedroom light now is sheltered in shadow and it feels like a gallows, but they can’t see that.
No, they can’t see that.  

The lids of your eyes are left masked in disguise
these problems you feel no longer seem real
but the confusion does.
And that rise in hysteria that makes you grow wearier turns your soldier façade into something so vague
and you can’t explain it because your heart is like rock and the problem now is
You don’t know what.
That confusion is real and those things that you feel they are present they are true they are here.
But there is hope
Darling there is hope.
For you aren’t alone in a world full of scorn there are people that care honey, people are there!
But you can’t see that
no, you can’t see that.
I'm not the best at poetry but there you go
Skylar Williams Apr 2013
Why do they call them evenings?
Nothing is becoming even
We pretend that everything is taken care of
but the loose ends persist
The worries keep nagging us
and time speeds up

To me, the day is lengthening
Growing darker
Growing wearier

and while I'd like to feel
every night
that all is well
and everything is even and good
it's not even okay.
someone still dies every eleven seconds.
that's not an even number.

So I don't want to give up on the day.
Don't want to lie down and let sleep fall over me.
But I know that in the morning I will regret those long evenings.
Those lengthenings, those endings

So I lie down.
and sink into the pillows
sink into darkness
into peace
into even.
BlueInkDitty Dec 2018
Blue lights on the memories still,
That we are, that we are, that you are to hold.
Winter froze the autumns' feel,
But the snow here isn't cold..
See, your heart is your own land,
With colored hills of sand,
Grass and rivers flowing free,
Red birds hidden in the trees.

No man is a wave alone,
This says all,
But if I must fall,
Know that you have been a blue sea,
While I was just a stone.

Blue lights on the memories still,
That we are, that we are, that you are to hold.
Winter came against my will,
And every story should grow old.
I may be a traveler,
A Gipsy tainted face,
But the road'll be wearier,
With another in your place.

No man is a house warm,
This says all,
But if I must fall,
Know that your stars in my skies,
Are windows in my home.

And I don't wanna burn your face red,
And you don't want to come to me,
But when I was a stone in grey shreds,
You were the waving blue sea.
A hammer and sickle to tickle them
cries of, 'it's Stalin' to ******* them, then
silence on Red Square.

Dacha's popping up everywhere
communism like evangelism
gathers the money in

holiday plans.

There are true ***** drinkers
thinkers like
Solzhenitsyn
gulags
and the rags of
Moscow.

I won't go

to the palace where tells of a ****** or
on the long road that tells us of more.

The KGB
a resident family of the community
are looking for me via Odessa.

I've gone to Sweden to lead 'em astray, can't stay in the concrete connivance no way, but
I end up in Siberia wearier than the dogs who run with the pack.

Looking back at the back of it
there's a lack of it, but I'll manage it and a carriage would help a bit to carry me home .
Sally A Bayan Sep 2014
(Love letter 2)

Dear Wanderer,

Already many months have gone by
Hurting times are slowly passing by
Trying moments, I hardly get by.

What could you be thinking of at this moment?
Don't you feel pricking pain in your chest?

I sense your nearness
I can't see you, but, I feel you.....
The air seems to tell me you are close by...
Tell me, why can't the past seem clearer,
Things are blurry, like windows on a stormy weather,

I imagine you,
Staring at me with wide-eyes
And I, staring back at your azure eyes...
I know Somebody up there hears my prayers,
But you...
Why do you seem deaf to my whispers?

My soft gentle words are carried by the wind,
To your ears, why can't they be destined?

Where have you gone now, dear wanderer?
When will you ever hear my whispers?

Why did your smiles
Last just for a while?

I am getting wearier,
One day, I may no longer wonder...

Please, we don't have forever,
Come fetch me now, dear wanderer
Now...or it may be never.

Me-

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Lyra Apr 2019
When my eyes find you in a crowd,
my heart can't help but stop,
Then I see her not far behind,
my heart, it plummets, it drops.

You tell me you are better as friends,
yet her iciness says you're not,
four years you loved her, now no more
but it seems she hasn't stopped.

I am your sun, you say to me,
but it seems she is your night,
you are the middle, I am the left
and she's always the right.

You love me, and I believe you,
but I believe my fears even more,
love never ceases, never leaves,
so how could it stop at four?

I see her in all we do,
she trails us like a silhouette,
your bed, your room, your passenger seat,
is there anywhere she hasn't been yet?

You're behind the wheel, hand on my knee,
but when you two meet,
you both get lost in reminiscing your past,
and it feels like I'm in the backseat.

I laugh with you in your tiny kitchen,
and out your window I look,
just two nights ago she was where I am,
thinking of what to cook.

I am in your bed and in your arms
yet somehow it feels so wrong,
like I am the intruder in her space,
it feels like I don't belong.

---Overwhelmed by your love,
by your kindness, by your heart,
overwhelmed by her familiarity,
by her tendency to start

talking about how you always nap,
about how you're like your brother,
about how your mom always complains,
when I, on the other hand, have never met her.

Inadequacy, jealousy, insecurity,
the usual - the full package.
You were and still are best friends with your ex,
and i incur the damage.

You say you're okay, the break up was fine,
there is no need to fret,
of course you're okay, you never had to grieve
because she never left.

It's a catch twenty-two, a lose-lose situation,
if only she wasn't your ex
if only she was just your best of friends,
then this wouldn't be such a mess.

It's a catch twenty-two, a lose-lose situation,
if she wasn't your best friend,
if only she was just another ex
if only I didn't have to contend.

She knows you inside-out, I understand,
both of you grew up together,
I just think, since she's your past,
she must also be your future.

I'm so afraid I'm temporary,
like in those movies and songs,
about how best friends fall in love
and everyone else is wrong.

I'm so afraid I'm a mere pit stop,
a temporary lapse in judgement,
the final interruption, the last mistake
before you return to her temptation.

I know I said I'd never make you choose,
how could you lose a friend?
But as time goes on, I grow wearier,
and things get harder to mend.

She'll be here for every birthday,
for every big event,
it's hard to wrap my head around
how I'm not your biggest fan.


Every time i think I'm in the clear,
and her presence slips far from my mind,
i see her name flash on your phone,
her texts you have yet to decline.

my heart becomes anxiety ridden,
my body numbs inside-out,
i swear it's not petty jealousy,
its waves of uncontrollable self-doubt.

when our friends go out and she joins too,
you hold me close to reassure me,
you mean well but all i can picture
is the same way you held her body.

I hear her laugh and i hate it so much,
i hate that she sounds so happy,
I hate that i think of how you used to love
the voice that sends my ears ringing.

i hate that our friends liked her so much
they kept her around after the split,
she's everyone's friend, everyone but me,
a fact she'd rather not admit.

you told me to always go to you
whenever she'd show me hostility,
but you never fail to defend her actions,
leaving the peace offering always to me.

She wants to be your friend, you say,
your obliviousness catches me off guard,
you're always reluctant to make her the bad guy,
so sometimes i don't even start.

Like a ticking time-bomb, I told a friend,
when I hadn't much faith in us,
but now I hope we never implode
no heartbreaks, no more fuss.

Circumstances decided they didn't like us,
but we made it this far anyway,
like the home I found in you,
I hope you decide to stay.

Four years, I remind you, she has under her belt,
while mine barely holds four months,
Her connection to you runs as deep as it goes,
while I've only cried in front of you once.

Four years, I remind you, til she chose to leave,
while you stayed in your room and cried,
four years is what I have to live up to,
I try, I'm trying, I tried.
messy rhythm but hey, messy thoughts.
Ray Jan 2015
For a month I had a home, our home away from home
neither mine nor his but we had our place
our little niche
our own space.

As the month drew near darker days came more frequent
I'd prefer to stay in bed, I'd let you tuck me in
but not even *** could make me forget
that the inevitable was quickly approaching.

Now that I'm here?
with no prospect of a home in sight
a place to call my own without
throwing myself to the dogs in the process.
The woman and her fangs sink deeper and deeper
the harder I try to run.
As each day passes I grow wearier
as to whether or not I'll even make it.
Jamesb May 13
When something is lost,
As my keys were,
One searches for it
With varying degrees
Of diligence and desperation,

We trace and retrace our steps,
Looking in the same spaces
For the same thing
With the same result,
But wearier each time

Until at last the item
Is retrieved and found,
In that case by you,
Keys sun-glinting
In your hand

A wonderful shared moment,
Relief and triumph,
A happy weariness
At laying eyes upon the lost
Now found,

Yet how does it work,
This new dynamic?
Because what is lost
Is right here in my heart,
She can be hugged and yet

Is still

Utterly

Lost
susan Dec 2015
this night
is lost in a winter wonderland
of hypocrisies
   and lies

a babe is being torn in two
by opposites
that know no better
other than what feels right
for them

false smiles
   and promises of love

offerings of
"if you need me, i'm here"
that aren't  honored

i've grown accustomed
to the falseness

i accept the dishonest
hugs of promises
that won't be kept
while offering the same

my back aches
my heart has grown wearier
   still
and i'm left here
with a baffled mind
and the realization
that family
doesn't live up to the hype
of what family
really is.
i love my family
but...
Lyra Apr 2019
When my eyes find you in a crowd,
my heart can't help but stop,
Then I see her not far behind,
my heart, it plummets, it drops.

You tell me you are better as friends,
yet her iciness says you're not,
four years you loved her, now no more
but it seems she hasn't stopped.

I am your sun, you say to me,
but it seems she is your night,
you are the middle, I am the left
and she's always the right.

I see her in all we do,
she trails us like a silhouette,
your bed, your room, your passenger seat,
is there anywhere she hasn't been yet?

I laugh with you in your tiny kitchen,
and out your window I look,
just two nights ago she was where I am,
thinking of what to cook.

I am in your bed and in your arms
yet somehow it feels so wrong,
like I am the intruder in her space,
it feels like I don't belong.

You love me, and I believe you,
but I believe my fears even more,
love never ceases, never leaves,
so how could it stop at four?

You say you're okay, the break up was fine,
there is no need to fret,
of course you're okay, you never had to grieve
because she never left.

She knows you inside-out, I understand
both of you grew up together,
I just think, since she's your past,
she must also be your future.

I'm so afraid I'm temporary,
like in those movies and songs,
about how best friends fall in love
and everyone else is wrong.

I'm so afraid I'm a mere pit stop,
a temporary lapse in judgement,
the final interruption, the last mistake
before you return to her temptation.

I know I said I'd never make you choose,
how could you lose a friend?
But as time goes on, I grow wearier,
and things get harder to mend.

She'll be here for every birthday,
for every big event,
it's hard to wrap my head around
how I'm not your biggest fan.

Circumstances decided they didn't like us,
but we made it this far anyway,
like the pieces of home I found in you,
I hope you decide to stay.

Four years, I remind you, til she chose to leave,
while you stayed in your room and cried,
four years is what I have to live up to,
I try, I'm trying, I tried.
c/l
z Apr 2016
Between asleep and awake, dear:
what I write now is it's own lovely prose
When theologians lit candles and wrote in the darkness growing
Something hidden behind the day's normal light glowing
and edging its way in the drone of the elongated shadowfield tinted magenta by the summer light
Something important isn't right
I stay up longer and longer and my eyes grow wearier and darker
I sit silently or when I lie I toss and turn like the surface of the sea
And the things around me shimmer and crackle
And I hear them coming, coming for me.
vern Jun 2019
I've grown to be wearier every day
I’m tired of caring whether everyone likes me or not.
Whether the way people perceive me is bearable or not.
I’m tired of feeling that the world
and everyone around me would be better off if I just died or disappeared,
selfish I know.
I’m tired of the lack of motivation
I have because my brain thinks
I should stare at a wall
instead of doing something productive.
I’m tired of always comparing myself and
always thinking I’m not good enough.
I’m tired of overthinking every tiny
thing the people I care about do around me.
I’m tired of wondering whether or not I give more or whether I don’t give enough.
I’m tired of lying
about the headaches I get in the morning
because I cried myself to sleep,
I’m tired of lying to my friends
and saying I don’t feel well
instead of meeting them
because something else is worrying me.
I’m just tired.
And I'm done being tired.
So tomorrow I hope to get a goodnight's rest
and triumph through the day
without even the slightest unrest
no notes today
Commuter Poet Jun 2020
Am I a dreamer
In your drama?
It’s no calmer
In my karma
Am I a worrier
Not a warrior
Feeling wearier
Of being ‘inferior’?
I might be doubting
Not doing
Though my eyes
Can still see through ya
Cos, you’re the prophet
Chasing profit
A human
Inhumane
Playing games
With our brains
When it rains
In your reign
You’re the sovereign
Who’s not botherin’
We need a leader
Who can lead us
But we won’t wait
For that date
It’s got too late
To trust in fate
So, we will fight
Through this fright
And put things right
As is our right
28th June 2020
...and now
for your
disappointment
entertainment.
oh
wait a moment,
it's
not for you at all.

and as it happens
which happens all the time
I'm back and tied to the yoke
but it's fine,
I was getting wearier not working
than I ever did when I was.

if there's still life in the old goat
there is still hope.
When you want to utter,
but then you stutter.
When you want to fly,
but then  sometimes you cry.
It's time you need a retrospection
And find your own self-reflection.

When you want to see the future,
but past is what you nurture.
When you want to speak,
but then sometimes you freak.
It's time you need to question yourself
Where the book of my life is lying in the shelf?

When you want to see the light,
but brightness is what makes you fright.
When you want to feel the air,
but storm is what you fear.
It's time you break your cage
And gleam on this beautiful life's stage.

When you want to find your spot,
but somewhere in the crowd you are lost.
When you want to hear the words of admiration,
but  sometimes you dread the criticism.
It's time you take the risk
And go for actions which are brisk.

When you want to break the barrier,
but then your life becomes wearier.
When you want to shine,
but then sometimes you whine.
It's time you don't remain silent
And stand out to show your talent.
Aditya Roy Apr 2020
I wish he was softer
But he was lonelier than harsh
He went through rough roads
Yet, there remained a jewel
Or was it the morning dew
That finally fooled me too
I thought he was softer
But he was crippled inside

I imagine I was a wearier man
He made me feel comfortable
Even in his absence
I seek his cure
Is this how presence is
Or friends are like this
Either way, I wish he was softer
But, he wanted more
Something that reminds me of a softer side of myself.
A road of cold and warmth intertwined.
A path of solitude and companionship designed.
Companions from the start creepingly evanesce with the rain.
Warmth shades into frigid baltic.
Marching down the lane, the scenery changes.
Ah? The loss halts the trek.
All that's left is my name and surname.
I didn't even try to bolt, yet why has what's been charted turned into a wreck?
I wasn't in haste, nor did I aim high.
A star filled with ungrace, as it streaks through the sky.
Lucent and gloomy, a presage of perennial rain. the reflection blemished my sight, cries withstood.
I wondered, what was normality?

Traversing the trail, swelling in solitude.
Travelling onwards, hailing in solitude.
Encountering other akin travelers, weary were their legs, wearier their hearts.
The gathered hearth abrim, we garnered deary quiddity.
My heart dinned in trepidation, then it started to wane.
But came the rain, once again, with its acridity.
Riven we became, clutching steps as ran.
Past a branch, holding my names.
Past the fork, at a terminal traveler; see back to nostalgic shadows of man.
Above, yellow leaves from the tree, falling so slowly.
I wondered, what was temporary?

A benign rain.
Wayfaring sans aim.
Clinging only a name.
A naam not of surname.
A beating heart asunder; tears of vain erudition.
I no longer wonder; separation is normality.

— The End —