Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Raghu Pratap Oct 2020
My lover remembers to leave me a note,
talking about the time we used to talk
when we were lovers,
when our bedsheets aligned,
and the politics overhead too, made love every day,
and found the time to write spare notes - on cheap paper, and my borrowed pen,
to an amour she would not see anymore,
talking about the blue nights she spent with me,
my lover recalls with vividness
the words I had said to her,
before I could learn to speak again,
in this really long note she has left me, and
I can suddenly see time as I have never before, and
my lover looks at me as if she has never before,
and she doesn’t know when to stop, and her heart doesn’t stop so easy,
and I could stop reading,
knowing she might die soon.
Jacob Lyons Jul 2020
Still I’ve hit the ceiling
But the fan hasn’t cut me
There is no point in running
When you only feel exposed
Still I’m in the sunlight
So how the hell can I hide?
I can feel the end coming
We are closer to being closed
This would make a great chorus/hook. I know it doesn’t translate without the melody. Morbid first two lines, huh?
Miles Graves Jun 2020
I want to rend this mind from within, cut it free
And leave it to expire with an ounce of clarity.

I want no skin left pure, I want it ripped until raw
If it would only cancel this human mistake that I abhor.

I want resentment to reside, to agitate these thoughts
As they race towards a destination that, for so long, I had fought.
Michael A Duff May 2020
Realizing my time is short but my love is deeply engaged, in owning only sadness will be made.
The eternal struggle, my love was real, to her it was fun, a folly not to keep and feel.
When I am not present draw her near, I've come to the conclusion of my time here.
Kashfiya Ahsan Apr 2020
They say endings are scary
Again, what do they know?
Maybe they’re just guessing
Perhaps, going with the flow

Endings could be peaceful
Of endings I’m not scared
They are regretful that’s all
But my whole life I’ve dared

Endings could be happy
Of endings I’m not scared
They are just very guilty
Of things they hadn’t shared

Endings could be calming
Of endings I’m not scared
They’re just anxious because
They’ll witness all that they feared

Endings could be nice
It’s probably not, I lied
I’m not just scared of endings
Truth is, I’m terrified.
Pizacas23 Apr 2020
"I want to tell you something " he said
"Okay" she replied.  "We know what we are - and we both know we're not."
Have you ever try falling inlove to someone but you know you can't be together?
Nylee Nov 2019
So this happened
And that too
The mind is alive
Not coming to
Conclusion
It is 3am
On my bed since 11
My eyes are wide open
Not sleeping at all.
Before my deoxyribonucleic code has been sent
To my mother by a male parent,
I was on his land of sand,
As barely apparent.


(spermicide)


2. Then, I was finally sent
Into my female parent,
On another land,
Barely planned.


A couple of months went that I spent
In my mother's abdomen rent
On that green land,
Barely planned.


Then, my rentee went to that land,
Flying to the land of crescent
Where I was to be meant
For a big moment.


(embryonic)


5. The event happened, the end of the rent,
Under the flag with the red crescent;
I was by a Jewish name penned,
On the fifth May after Lent.


Falling into my mother's hand,
Still without any dent,
Back, I was re-sent
To motherland.


On that land, red in discontent,
White until the Lent's end,
And green at Lent,
I had one parent.


I had no knowledge when he went,
But I was without a male parent,
With only two women, a grand-
And an abnormal parent.


His furious leaving left an advent
As my mother madwomaned
With a schizophrenic scent,
To madhouse "never" sent.


The balance keeping us under tent
Was our draconian grandparent
With an infinite financial grant
That let us live on that land.


For alms, we walked to granny frequent',
And I loved her as my parent
For that little attachment
I barely experienced.


The further notions I experienced:
I was sent and sent and sent;
Nursed, schooled, churched,
And kindergartened.


But even before my childhood could end,
I found myself hard to befriend;
Playing the play of a dement
With an unmatched brand.


A playful kid, maybe too vehement,
Among others, a crazy element,
I was, but inside silent,
Over-vigilant.


I liked to observe others' comportment;
What was that I have been meant,
What made me outstand
Like an alien, mutant.


Step by step, I wished the end
Of flying dishes and plant'
At my domicile rent,
End of the torment.


(pubescent)


17. I wished to vanish from the torment
Of social-antisocial banishment,
But I saw no escape slant,
Only in my poetic lament.


Though, before those sad lament,
I tried to see my life and mend
My heart with compliment,
Some failed love event.


Minutes, days, months and years went,
A lot of school skills that I learnt,
But the best one in my hand
Was the ability to pretend.


Even if I swam well in crosscurrent,
I wished to end, leave that land;
Searched by my male parent,
I planned to visit his land.


Then, my mother went to madhouse mend,
For what, I was by my university banned
To work that went well, but I meant
To start or end a life in sand.


(twentified)


22. So, as my twenty-first birthday present
Finally, I Africanly citizened
To know my descent
And the crescent.


Beyond the French and Arabic accent,
I manned myself on that land
Where I was landed and
It's not yet ended.


Changing the cross to crescent,
I could be happy and...
But people prevent
Every event.


I'd been married as I planned,
But my fam is an accident
As my birth in an extent,
In this actual land.


What to do, socially I try to pretend
That I am indeed an element,
But my DNA was meant
To disappointment.


(at present)


27. Seen these verses, it's abhorrent
As well as writing a lament,
But as a birthday present,
I wish a Happy - End.
My only birthday gift as usual, from me to myself.

03.02.2019.
Em MacKenzie Aug 2019
I spotted a fortune teller at an old county fair
while knowing the answers I still looked for some there.
There was no love line or fate line she could’ve read,
I told her I bet there’s no sun line, life line or trace of a head.
She met my eyes with sadness written all over her face,
and told me out of all people that I was her worst case.
She traced the inside of my hand intently trying to see
then she asked me had I recently been burned severely.

In my death bed I’ve been waiting patiently for sleep
sadly I’m not the one it wishes to greet.
With past scars and present fresh wounds tunnelling down so deep,
loss of blood and mind so I’m left as just a sack of meat.

A loving caress to each feature
but succeed in only poking the bone,
and every single living creature
dies completely alone.
She was a rainbow and I; charcoal grey,
they all choose to go but claim they wish to stay.

The beeping bouncing off the wall
steady like sirens or alarms,
and at the end of it all
we all die in our own arms.
She was a rainbow and I; charcoal grey,
I still catch her glow but it’s fading away,
I know it could never last, but I still have to pray,
‘cause I am the past and she’s only in today.

I’ve acted strong and kept up this ruse,
atleast I can say I’ve always been brave,
but when I’m not digging up the past, ghosts or clues,
I’ve steadily been digging my own grave.

No lines, no ties, not a single strand.
I’ve got the palmist right in the palm of my hand.
Points to those who get the Donnie Darko and Sopranos references.
Next page