Poetry

This is the general category of fuckery that goes on and on and doesn’t seem interested in stopping.

  • Lockstep with the sun

    Burning eyes

    Of tears translated from rays watching chaos

    Do you cry because it burns

    Or do you cry because its overwhelming sadness begins to consume you from the inside?

    When you look at him does he burn your eyes?

    Does he blind you for daring set a gaze upon him?

    Or is it so magnificent

    The eyes merely have completed seeing

    Everything is light

    And all the light touches is under his command.

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  • It’s melting

    I’m lonely

    I miss him

    I love him

    There is no going back

    There is no undo

    It’s better this way

    The tears falling down my cheeks as

    It’s melting

    All the thoughts swirling

    In meaningless whorls

    I know better

    I know better

    I love him

    It’s over and broken

    I know better

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  • They say we’re friends.

    But I watch in silence

    As they make plans around me

    Without me

    They say we’re friends

    Yet I remain invisible

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  • Flash forwards

    They aren’t the future

    They’re an anxious brain tick

    Tick tick

    Taking for a ride by the thought of

    But this could be

    It won’t be

    Only ever works out in completely different ways

    Dream me seems nice enough

    Tough enough too

    Sick of being sick

    Thought rollercoasters

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  • No one ever loves me the way I love them

    Like a slight of hand run by too many times

    They brush it off

    Or they never see it

    We’re back to invisible and alone again

    In the middle of an over populated land

    Invisible and alone

    It’s nice knowing some people like some stuff that happens in my phone

    Invisible and safe

    And alone

    But safe

    Can I learn to love again?

    While loving too much

    Or selfishly

    Not getting enough love back

    But we are selfish

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  • Pulling back the paint

    Dragging of furniture across the floor

    The remains of what remains

    The colours under the colours he painted it

    Returning to its former state

    A house is not a home

    Until it’s restored

    And then,

    Like a flower blooming back to its full glory

    It will be

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