a poem about an aching heart

Photo by Craig Chitima on Unsplash

as I held onto broken wings longer

they seem to screech and turn

whenever I tried to glide through the storm

of withered hope

they seem to halt only by the calm seas

where the air was misty humid

and the water was ice cold

where every touch of grain was rough

and ever shell was winter snow

all flowers were wilted

and every page had to unfold

revealing its true truthful form

just like it had many times before

my reckoning came when I fell

deeper, down to the core

feeling safe for once and happy evermore

--

--

a dark poetry

Photo by Matthias Oberholzer on Unsplash

within the shallows of the water

smothered by reefs, afloat

black swirls of shadows

gurgling water starts to choke

“let me go, I can't breathe

hands hold me back, they push me down”

velvet crimson mixes,

with the dense dusky liquid

motionless limbs twitch

as she she was about to reach-

“was it fun watching me?

the way I splashed, fought, and drowned?”

deeper from the surface

muddier it grows

stuck to rock bottom

tied by a rope

“did u hear my screams?

the way your name was all I could shout?”

bubbles swallow the last words

no one can here within the shadows

for darkness is greedy it provokes

calls everything his yet doesn't say so

--

--

Photo by Elijah Lychik on Unsplash

a sly bottle of bubbling whiskey

chaotic words dash around

blurred picture of connected reality

drops of gay dew and melancholy resound

bewitching aesthetic sunshine

bouncing yellow and orange around

little concealed secrets float

replenishing the aura around

disguised fallen stars

engulf one’s desire to embark

one reckless step too hard

and the crimson shall flow without regard

heavy thuds on the stairway

stomping cruel notes of harm

a splash of distant realization

but its too late for an alarm

the kettle slowly grows restless

squeaks and screeches around

little rodents scurry

as the master resents to bow

at lightning speed goes the bullet

heartlessly the eyes stare

at the intoxicated corpse that falls

no mercy has been spared

bury well before advancing

amongst the mist of the world

behind phoney bars of pretence

you have sinned without a hint of concern

--

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Vintage diary

— sometimes i tend to drift into a world of make belief —