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Julia Spohn Mar 2011
I am in love with
Melancholy.
He is the sweetest of suitors,
Bedazzled in jewels that glint so smoothly,
And just enough,
And right in your eyes,
To shield you,
Maybe protect you,
From his abuse and his repetitive,
Cyclical nature.

He is so handsome in any light.
I sometimes love to just stare at him
And contemplate the rigid, weepingly gorgeous
Features that make up his seraph's face.

There is a sharp angle just beneath his perfect
Ears, which hear me splay cheeky compliment after
Cheeky compliment toward them.
This angle turns into his jaw,
Which opens up and down, not like a hinge but rather a
Hatchet, to tell me
So many lies.
He presents them just so - as lies.
But he sways them so wonderfully,
So persuasively and professionally
That I can do nothing but fall
Asunder to this dark suitor's mouth.

He pulls me towards him,
Like the Earth pulls the Moon,
Like the Spider pulls the Prey,
Like Love pulls the Fool.

Intoxicating, really.
His lips move like planets.
They orbit around his weightless voice,
And they spin on their own axes,
And sometimes they spin toward my own.
They plant themselves like magnets,
As if we were meant to be,
And they move in harmony,
Just as hard and stubborn as magnets,
Just as ineffably wonderful we sometimes
Find physics to be.

But then they release -
He releases.
He floats backward, his beautiful
Demonic grin enticing me,
Telling me, "I'll love you and
Leave you, and you can do nothing do
But enjoy it."

My Melancholy.
My beautiful, beautiful angel who blots out the night,
Sweeping the stars together to form a
White, blinding fingerpainting that he tapes to the heavens,
And delivers unto me what I believe is daylight.

But then his head bends back,
Exposing that beautiful hatchet-jaw,
And his crackling fire of a voice beams
Like headlights right into my doe ears and eyes.
He cackles, tells me he loves me,
And flies away.
Sabila Siddiqui Apr 2018
“For once I want you to think about me” she said weepingly, almost like an urge, a plea. Her skin glistered where the tears touched her skin. “For once I want you to care about me” every word manifesting more emotion than the one before. “I want you to think about me while I talk to you. I want your undivided attention. I want your wholehearted love. Please, just for once, just for a while I need you completely to me.“
annh Jun 2019
winter
weepingly bitter
counts to ten
d
e
g
r
e
e
s
then cries some more
‘To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake it is necessary to stand out in the cold.’
- Aristotle
Evie Richards Apr 2018
You told me not to cry,
so I never will again.

I internalise my tears until they nearly overflow,
until I'm fit to burst,
and the strain could **** anyone who comes too close.
And pressed deep inside my heart,
those tears will turn to ice
that creeps like frost through my frozen blood.

And you ask me why my hands are cold.

Now I wont say I have a frozen heart -
because I'm not devoid of feeling.
But my lungs are tipped with ice
and my veins are the blue of frost,
the whites of my eyes are as weepingly white
as freshly fallen snow.
I don't know if I'm cold because of the weight I've lost
or whether I've just lost all of my heat.

I'm scared you'll warm my heart,
because I know that if you do
I wont be able to stop the tears from flowing,
and they'll never stop.
i wrote this a little while ago, at one of the lowest points of my depression, and at the start of an abusive relationship
Glenn Currier Nov 2020
There was a man who for all appearances
was living the american dream
fine clothes fancy sleek black car
women at his beck and call
celebrity and media attention
awards and accolades
but he was lost and empty
mostly miserable
weepingly lonely.

And I wondered if such a dream
is really a nightmare
if there is nothing deeper
sounder
loving
beautifully silent
selfless
infinite,
then I do not want that dream.

I’d rather be awake in wonder
in the richness of now
in the arms of my old lover
reading a good book
or asleep at home
under the covers wandering
a bright afternoon
or the shadowy byways
and rocky crags
of the universe.
So silently,
smashed to  smithereens
like fallen branches
from a  gum tree.
Weepingly,
agony atoningly,
in a thoughtful breeze,
The leadingly
to cause the whispering,
rocks the balcony of the ranch
Can I ever be free
and live my life not sinfully?
And finally tastefully......

— The End —