State of grief and loss by PuzzledHeartBox, literature
Literature
State of grief and loss
What does one do, when a feeling of all encompassing loss consumes the mind?
When all seems bleak, and colours have disappeared from the world...
When demons loom in perpetual silence; from the very darkness of my own self.
The loss never ceases to strain me, suck out and drain me, as if fatigue itself is my new state of physical being.
My mind falters ever so freely, rapidly, declining into the dark crevices of my own conceiving. This abyss,
that is the bottomless pit creating this sense of loss, not fitting in, not belonging, as if an emptied husk, devoid of all energy and feeling.
I hear you, yet I'm disconnected from words and letters,
When resonating souls fall out of rhythm
Lost, floating in opposite directions, steered by the undertow
This bittersweet sorrow of goodbye, they are to know
Words unspoken left harrowing wounds
Till the soul became broken, an echoic room’s unrequited echo
This bittersweet sorrow of goodbye, they are to know
Abolished alliances and sore yet sweet remembrances
Oh such disdain, they dare not show
Such is the bitterness of goodbye’s sorrow.
State of grief and loss by PuzzledHeartBox, literature
Literature
State of grief and loss
What does one do, when a feeling of all encompassing loss consumes the mind?
When all seems bleak, and colours have disappeared from the world...
When demons loom in perpetual silence; from the very darkness of my own self.
The loss never ceases to strain me, suck out and drain me, as if fatigue itself is my new state of physical being.
My mind falters ever so freely, rapidly, declining into the dark crevices of my own conceiving. This abyss,
that is the bottomless pit creating this sense of loss, not fitting in, not belonging, as if an emptied husk, devoid of all energy and feeling.
I hear you, yet I'm disconnected from words and letters,
When resonating souls fall out of rhythm
Lost, floating in opposite directions, steered by the undertow
This bittersweet sorrow of goodbye, they are to know
Words unspoken left harrowing wounds
Till the soul became broken, an echoic room’s unrequited echo
This bittersweet sorrow of goodbye, they are to know
Abolished alliances and sore yet sweet remembrances
Oh such disdain, they dare not show
Such is the bitterness of goodbye’s sorrow.
A pound of heroine on my chest.
Needles piercing marbled flesh.
Drawing red cascades of lovers lost
Heart’s twitching... never enough.
This opiated symphony,
a brain induced malady...
Of untold stories adrift the sea
Sunken in thoughts along perennial shores,
As an olden statuette gilded, but wore.
Long left agape beyond Horizon’s wall.
What once roamed the most ostentatious of halls,
Now narrates the amaranthine beauty of Apollo’s lore.
How he had come to be seen as the one to abhor.
For once a god whom stood pristine and tall,
Turned to judging people and orchestrate their fall.
Oh such fate to be judged at Horizon’s shore.
To be cursed out of reach of all you’d adore.
Apollo did fall from his grace above all
To be forever enslaved as unreachable wall.
Your eyes wide open,
raindrops cascading from your paling face.
Such abhorrent sight, yet so beautifully captivating.
This iridescent light, reflecting on your bloodied sclera
Whilst the concrete turns red.
Quoth the devil, 'Nevermore.' by InternetSatan, literature
Literature
Quoth the devil, 'Nevermore.'
Once upon a midday query, I browsed online, drunk but leery,
Til the web then distracted, with its volumes of porn and gore.
I started nodding, after fapping, when suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my bedroom door.
“’Tis some subjects,” I muttered, “tapping at my bedroom door.
Only this and nothing more.”
Hesitant to actually bother, I scratched my ass and began to ponder.
Ponder if it was a whore, and if it was why wait anymore?
After a shout I wondered no longer, I knew the voice that was yonder.
T'was my worthless brother tapping, oh so gently he was rapping.
Rapping at
The Promise Made by Rosalind's Grave by Chezzy-Am, literature
Literature
The Promise Made by Rosalind's Grave
Whilst the tender breeze, autumn leaves aloft
Left us to gather where none would be free
From above, I heard your voice, soft
Like a whisper, 'twas meant to be
The promise made by Rosalind's grave
A thousand dreams, by a thousand streams, rivers
Of time which bind us, as it hears us shrivel
In bidding our farewells, to see us wither
Grey clouds, benign; neither rain flows nor drops
"For thee, my soul, was destined and decreed"
Gently, whispers beseech - aloft
Their sadness, craving to be freed
The promise made by Rosalind's grave
Of woes forlorn, from a heart torn, and splintered
Blissful reveries, now nightmares, to ponder
Of where your sou
Parmi les échos du passé
Les voix, les rêves oubliés
Conscience de naufrage
L’engloutissement, le vertige
De chuter dans les abysses d’où
Nous ne pouvons nous rendre compte
Les profondeurs du plafond,
D’où la sortie est invisible
Et la douleur irréversible.
Si j’ose respirer
C’est mon cœur qui s’endolorit
Puisque je ne pense qu’aux rires
Jadis, qui accompagnaient les sourires
Qui eux éblouissent et qui me remplissent,
Spectre, de vie, suffit que j’apprécie
Avant que je ne me rende compte
Que je n’étais qu’endormi.
Je veux aller
... Would You Summon My Maker? by Chezzy-Am, literature
Literature
... Would You Summon My Maker?
Those eyes which were veiled, spoke words to leave one bitter
“Tomorrow's but a dream, goodbyes are fallacy -
For what else, would have made you summon my maker?”
Befallen, to watch with sighs, with such unkempt tears
“So cold… so cold are your words…” and so, she did cry!
Those eyes which were veiled, spoke words to leave one bitter
Hence it should be so, oh naïve, subdued creature
“Cold? Yes! Cold is the soul which you hid deep inside
For what else, would have made you summon my maker?”
But a gasp! The drama pauses the theater!
Lo! Was spoken “my soul?! My soul you dare decry?!
in the helium of a night
where constellations ignite
the blood-spattered atrium
of a late summer's sky,
I find myself a comet
shooting the urban grid
in an urgency as I race
a suicidal rim on two wheels
in the blackness between the fires,
my red-shifted thoughts crossing
light years out-of-body
and outliving me
till the awareness of you
slingshots me at Mach speed
to await your arrival
long before it happens,
caught at the last light
so close to my destination,
inhaling the danger of you,
where to idle the demon
begs disaster, even if the
interlude proves a watershed
by Neptune's light, I will
wish to death