You say you love me
Yet our marriage is through
There is nothing I can say
And less that I can do
You pack up your things
What’s means most to you
As you’re packing I’m begging
Is there something we can do
My words don’t phase you
There’s no merit they bare
You appear so damn heartless
And your eyes blankly stare
Your love was always there
And never let me feel alone
It’s never seen you this way
With no compassion shown
What’s happening with you
Why are being this cold
How can I sleep at night
Without you for me to hold
You believe it best I forget you
How do I forget those years
Walking out you had none
Only my eyes had the tears
The ink of storms wreaks havoc on the unturned page.
Pulped filaments flop face-lessly before eyes once warm, yet frigid cold.
Daring not to expect much to read or write,
I stare blankly from the aughts of night.
Stars are but memories from books,
Overshadowed by polluted distances, smudged by the burn of business bustling below in the barrel.
Fish flop, and folios fold upon themselves, as the Sun circles this tip-toed Sphere.
My mind seems diagonal to the lines within this verse; un-unitarian against the it that I am not of.
Am I the ink?
The reader?
Or do I draw its lines?
I've not felt the sense to be, see, nor write, so what is it that am I?
A passerby upon the paragraph, pretending to play in presents performed en troupe.
Pathetic.
Why Poetry? she muses, sat in front
of paper, staring blankly, lifelessly
at her image.— and really…, who is she
to ask the page—in a manner so blunt—
to shoulder her excesses? such a stunt
surely exceeds the bounds of decency;
Soliciting a perfect effigy,
she risks paying her Muses high affront.—
Still, she dares,—and dares she bold and willing
to strike strokes of black ink upon the white
mirror challenging her to forgive—
And here goes flying, now there goes spilling
the blood of Artistry,—and Spite,—and Might,!
Why Poetry?—or, better yet, why live?
Late at the airport, in haste we arrived.
Rumbling plastic wheels rushing in unity,
from tarmac to marble to carpet;
the shuffling queue dispersed, finally.
Luggage swept away, adorned with labelling.
Black and white tags mark a future, awakening.
A marathon sprint to the gate, a race against time
but a man dressed in opaque black approaches
and with regret explains
how just one seat remained,
a voice I'd never forget.
You spoke longingly of your mother's dearest day
and I swayed,
watched as your shadow boarded
naive that I had just sealed our fates.
Now I sit, staring blankly
at your unopened case
wondering if we could've opened
a different timeline in a different space.
If only we'd chosen to stay, chosen to wait.
Regrets waft through the cy air,
a melancholy echo of what could've been,
remnants of a longing to a love unseen.
Whatever did I do to wile away my time
Before poetry took over my brain
Walked around staring blankly into space
Burping and expelling methane
Really no direction I was truly a lost soul
The word 'zombie' enters my mind
But now I'm alive and cooking with gas
Rhyming away line after line
Friends all say, “knock that stuff off!”
Love to but my brain is obsessed
Even rhyme when I'm ordering a pizza
This affliction has made me quite stressed
I lovingly remember those carefree days
Before poetry took over my life
I went to the park and did normal things
Threatening little kids with a knife
If you didn't think that line was appropriate
Couldn't find another to rhyme
So don't go writing me nasty letters
I'm really not the violent kind
To end this silliness on an upbeat note
I've ended up here with this group
Met a nice bunch of really friendly people
Sure happy I'm now in the loop
I hate how it always ends up like that.
How I get ignored for several hours.
And reply within a few seconds.
To think that you didn’t care as much as I do.
Engraves a sense of solitude in my heart.
I can’t call myself anything but a fool.
To hopelessly stare blankly at a screen.
How can I have these emotions, however?
Every day I greet you like it’s never the last time.
Reminiscing, overthinking but never hating you.
Ever wondered if you noticed those emotions………………? (will you ever do?)
“Winter is coming”
I looked at my other, shaking my head
“Darling, it’s Spring”
She just looked at me blankly
“Winter is coming”
I opened my eyes and roll over to the empty spot next to me
The cold breeze had finally arrived
Sending a chill through my veins
Freezing over my heart
These four walls had once contained warmth like a nice summer’s day
Now my only companion is the ice that now surrounds me
Warmth now a delusion
Winter is coming
Had I understood her warning
I would’ve bundled up a lot sooner
Four seasons but I’m the only one who’s changing
Everytime I fall asleep she arrives once again
Swirling around my mind like the Autumn leaves
But for now
Winter is here and it plans to stay.
The sun retreats in anguish
As winter takes control,
I stare out the window blankly
As I let my thoughts unroll
I think of the isolation
Of the sadness I solely consume,
Betrayed by so called “friends”
And left to my own assume
I’m tired now and I have to go
But it’s not in my nature to give up,
Maybe that’s the beauty in life
The change, the growth, the disrupt
I bring my pen to the page
And utter my desperate cries,
I know my selfish leaving
But this is my last of tries.
The Empty Page
It sat there at my student desk
In wait of task to tend.
Write a poem, the teacher urged,
Your thoughts to paper, penned.
Intently, I perused the sheet,
Pale white and yet unmarked.
It lay there teasing my first move,
“Don’t leave me unremarked.”
This paper, college ruled and prim,
Well-bleached and full of aughts,
Stared blankly back at me to help,
With all my labored thoughts.
I searched the room for any clues
Of how I was to learn.
The clock was running faster now,
No time to wait and yearn.
I sat there squeamish and unnerved,
Too weak to brandish pen.
It was my first time close to death,
Too late for where and when.
Surely, all the class can see
My torment and refrain.
I’d rather have a spelling bee.
I’m circling ‘round the drain.
In looking back these many years,
My eyes were outward bent.
The chalkboard hung erased to black.
My mind, abridged, was spent.
But time has made its mark on me,
Halfway granting one old wish -
To find that poem in myself,
And give to Mr. Nish.
Robert Farrell Waltrip
I’m sitting all alone with this empty hole inside,
I can’t seem to stop thinking “it’s always me, I’d rather die”. The voices surround me, crying out my biggest fears. As I sit staring blankly at the wall my eyes are filled with tears. Sometimes I feel no emotion, sometimes I’m filled with dread. I’m angry at myself, but it’s all inside my head. I find it hard to function everyday of my life, Will the time ever come where someone wants me as their wife? I’m very hard to deal with when my moods are up and down. One minute I want to party and the next I want to drown. The doctors think I’m crazy, my family thinks I’m mad. And this is why I like to be alone, is it really all that bad?
Tablet after tablet, nothing seems to get better
The impulsive thoughts inside my mind, my face is getting wetter. Will it ever pass? Will I ever cope? this is BPD. I can’t control my actions. It’s taking over me. One day I’m hoping I’ll wake up and it will all just float away. It’s time to take life day by day and pray I’ll be ok. But until the day I feel normal, I have to keep my head held high. Because I have my whole life left, and I’m to young to die.
Crippled by guilt, yet not enough to make changes in that Instant
A person who to themselves are unrecognisable for Instance.
Losing sight of prior priorities, instead lethargic and Inconsistent.
Every day begins and every night ends feeling overwhelmingly Immunodeficient
Words of concern fall upon deafened ears, their statements are inconveniently
Insistent.
Parts of life you once loved and have not loved in a while, now you blankly perceive as Insufficient
The chilly breezes of winter,
As I walked by,
A man glanced at me,
And smiled,
It wasn’t creepy,
Nor was it nice,
It slowly disappeared,
Replaced by a look of ice,
The closer he came,
The faster I walked,
Only to be stopped by an unstable rock,
I stumbled and tripped,
Crying out in pain,
Alas, the man caught up before I could get up,
He looked at me with wide eyes,
Whilst I winced in pain,
He pulled my arm forcefully and threw me across his shoulders,
Carried me as I whined in protest,
People around stared blankly like I was a test,
Not bothering to help,
And that is how my story ends.
Prisoners were captured, their liberty were stolen
Hopes were dangling, asking help to heaven
Dreams were their silent sanctuaries
The only one that keeps their sanities
Eyes were blindfolded, hands were handcuffed
Lies and deceptions, all of them were bluffed
It felt like an abyssal tunnel they fell in
Everywhere you looked, it was just a dark scene
Free to struggle with strengths just like candles
This world is dominated by heartless scoundrels
Evil is everywhere, someone pulls his triggers
Weak are those we hear the sound of whimpers
When will this dark age come to conclusion?
When is the fulfillment of promised redemption?
All these words are just words, vague and empty
All seen are letters and numbers printed blankly
What is the context, who gives the meaning?
Our minds can't compete to what He's thinking
Send a messenger, one who will tell us your will
A refreshing message that will makes us stands still
This is the key to these chains we're strapped into
In darkness we're into, the light that pierce through
We see the glimpse of the future, thanks to you
We feel free and loved, not caged as we used to
It's good to see
Someone just walking gracefully
There isn't enough
Strolling or sauntering
They are such lovely words
The yellow colored leaves
Falling atop the umbrella
As well scattered at the byways
As she passes by my side
Looking silenly at her blankly
God made all things perfectly I see
Are all beautiful and welcoming
I'm breathing its crisp air, I love it
I love the rain as well.
Second Shard
Shattered glass dipped in red
I forget about the glass
And begin to clean the blood
And that stings too
Causing more
And more
And more
It won’t stop
First the time of the past
Then shattered glass
Then blood
Then shattered glass dipped in red
And more blood
When will it stop?
I don’t know what to do
What do I do?
Everything I do makes it worse
I’m trying to clean
I’m trying to make it better
Nothing is working
What do I do?!
I finally stop trying
I lay in my pool of blood and glass
Staring into the black abyss
Feeling my shattered glass dipped in red surround me
“Be still” echos through the space
I lay there
Quiet
Not moving an inch
Staring blankly
Who’s going to clean ?
There’s glass everywhere
I need to clean
And I began to clean again
Picking up the shattered glass
Cutting my hands
Ignoring the blood coming from them
My mind fills with blood again
Filling up
I begin to notice the past was no longer red
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