It’s Getting Worse

I will write you poems,

From the blood the pours from my wrist.

The colour of your eyes in the sunlight,

Matches the noose hanging in my closet.

Your hand grips mine so passionately,

The same way I held the empty pill bottle.

Your sent is intoxicating,

I just wish I could be locked with it inside a plastic bag.

You gently splashed me in the tub,

And the waves made me want to go to the sea and swim as far as I could so I couldn’t make it back.

I thought loving you would make me better, but you have given death a romantic touch. And I love her more than I could ever love you.

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Time

I missed you

But the sun still rose,

And it continued to warm the Earth.

I missed you,

But the time still passed,

Like any other day.

I missed you,

But the music still sounded

The way it always had.

I missed you,

And I will always miss you,

But life still continues.

I suppose

I will have to accept

That you are no longer

part of my life.

The Poet And The Pessimist

She sat there, her head nearly pressing against the glass, admiring the rain gently kissing the pavement.

He sat in his office, eyes glazed with the reflection of the computer screen, mumbling about how the weather ruined his plans for the day.

 

I’m Unaware

But where does one go when the minds no longer safe?

What does one do when the pleasures no longer please?

How does one have a future when they cannot see past the hour?

Who does one speak to when they are left alone?

When does one sleep when their thoughts keep them up?

Why does one live when death can come?