Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Feb 2014 zay
Nick Durbin
You are the wilted flower in the sea of the dead…
The last beautiful sign of a world forgot –
Your beauty stretches beyond the words,
Tipping over the cliffs of tongues,
Crashing into the abyss and swallowed –
Eaten whole,
Forgotten…
You are the last droplet of sun,
Kissing the horizon as you asunder from the day –
Leaving your taste in the sky,
Painted with the colors of your soul…
http://peterandtink.wordpress.com/2014/02/07/wilted-flower/
 Feb 2014 zay
Jess Brady
What I felt for him was like a galaxy of longing. A galaxy filled with thoughts and scenarios that would never play out the way I wanted to; but a galaxy nonetheless. As he sat in the chair perfectly aligned with the wall, I wondered about every possible thing I could’ve said in that moment, but I said nothing. I sat on the floor in front of him, looking down at the floor. I thought about telling him so many things, but once again only silence escaped my lips. He stared intently at his homework on his lap. He looked up for one solemn moment and said “I need to tell you something,” and he started talking about his brothers and sisters and he told me how he loved me and at that moment in time, anything he said after that was irrelevant. When he finished speaking, I said, “I love you too,” with a glimmer in my eye and the smallest smile on my lips. His face dropped, and I realized he didn’t mean it the way I did. I quickly added, “As a good friend though,” trying not to look surprised or saddened. But it was too late, and I was sitting there on the floor trying not to show my emotions. “I didn’t mean it that way, I don’t like you like that. I didn’t think you would take it that way; it’s why I said it after I mentioned my brother and sister. I meant it in a family way. I’m sorry.”  I stared at him for the longest time, questioning the different things I could say to him to make him feel better; I came up with nothing. I hated that feeling; I hated that feeling so much I hate it when I want to say something but I cant, because I cant think of anything to say, because the words get thick in my throat and every single nerve in my body is telling me not to say it. I hate it when you don’t know what to say and all that’s left in the room is the empty silence.  I hate it so much.

I called him a week after the incident and asked him if he had anything to do.
“I cant do anything this week, I’m really busy sorry.” There was a moment of silence before I answered him, “Oh…” I didn’t mean to sound sad, but I did, and he knew why. He got angry with me, and he told me to stop. He told me to stop trying to make things happen that wont, to stop wasting time over someone that doesn’t feel the same towards you as you do to them, to stop making scenarios in my head, to stop wanting someone that didn’t want you, to stop waiting. And I hung up the phone, and I did. I stopped. I stopped doing all of that; and I ran. I ran through my neighborhood and thought about all of the things I should let go of. I ran through the meadows and the valley and the creeks until I had nothing left to think about. And I got a lot of things done that day; I pulled my life back together.
I had a dream somewhat similar to this piece of writing so it inspired me to to make this.
 Feb 2014 zay
blankpoems
you are the first person I've ever wanted to share sunsets with
my loneliness stings like a salt bath after a night of wine and fresh Elvis wounds,
you are anything but desolate
the summer of two thousand nine I opened my veins to try and see God
the doctor who stitched me up asked what a 13 year old would know about faith
and all I said was that God takes his turn on the swingset by pushing other children out of the way,
but you are an angel
and even still I'd boil your halo and inject it in my veins
I want to be close to your holiness
like warmth, like winter; we go together like relief
with you, i'm never even here but I never want to leave
because I need you like my childhood that haunts the walls,
like sunday morning acoustics and coffee that's too sweet,
but not sweet enough for you to say anything
say nothing,
I miss you because you're not here and I'm not there
and still we are anything but lonely
the day I met you, I started missing you.

— The End —