"writing"
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Category: Writing and Poetry
"I tried my best not to cry, so the clouds did it for me." My heart is a cemetery, and all the bodies are people I once loved. There, I see your grave—freshly buried with my favorite flowers. I contemplate. I read your name and touch its cold coffin. You were dead to me. Yet, I hear your laughter and see your smile. You are no longer here with me, yet we remain in t » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Your presence is like gold— Hard to find and difficult to hold. You walk with a mean demeanor, Eyes piercing like an unreflective mirror. I couldn't hear your thoughts, Couldn't read your face, Yet my heart races with your smile’s embrace. I want to touch you slowly, Every inch of my fingertips brushing your skin, Yet you look at me with eyes so dim. If it means sacrificing my voice to hear your "... » Continue Reading
— 1 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
To hate a man is to smile at him, To hate him is to believe his lies, And gaze deeply into those tired brown eyes. To loathe a man is to care for him, To loathe him is to love him, It is to trust him. As the flower withers, so do his words, When fall arrives, so does solitude, To hate a man is to treat him as your fortitude. When knots are untangled, One becomes strangled, A string once a bridge, ... » Continue Reading
— 2 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
When misery is alone, company comes and stays, Misery avoids their gaze, Yet company is here to smile. Misery turns its back to company, Does not seek sympathy, In short—misery wants to be lonely. Company lingers near, Believing misery is sincere, Misery feels like a small mouse, Whenever company is around. Misery does not love company, Yet company will go—eventually, No, wait—it’s just me, The wr... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Songs began to remind me of her, Playlists once nameless now carry her name, Lyrics that once made no sense— Now every word aches the same. Her pink jacket lingers in my mind, Aching, I scream for her name—I’m losing control, My heart, so heavy, burdened with this boulder of pain. Delicate as a lily, Yet bittersweet when tasted fully, » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
I stare at the wrinkles tracing his forehead, His dark hands, weathered and worn, And his tired, weary eyes. I wonder, "Am I made from this man?" A man whose demeanor can make one laugh, yet another frown. He snores so loud at night— I regret not cherishing the sound. I read these thoughts aloud, no rhyme to guide them, But every tear finds its pair, Sliding down my pale cheeks. I long for his pre... » Continue Reading
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