poetry
so
  meaning l e s            s
it makes you
       s
       i
       c
        k.

Far from the madding crowd,
Unperturbed, unmoved, even happy
Crossing her way over rocky hills and rivers
Kissing butterflies, singing symphonies
You'd see her and think she just got dropped from heavens
Or finally found her way out of a painting.
Unrelated:- this is an acrostic.

I brought stars in my pocket.

I think I feel envy
for every other person
related to you.

I don't get this.

Come back.

Should I delete myself or should I delete other things?

one day i will stop searching for you

I miss you and it's eating on me

It was fine;
you went because
it was meant to be.
But I can't help counting
each day as it passes,
and months,
and sometimes I would even
calculate the seconds
spent
without you.

Maybe dying would've been easier if I had forgotten you.

Is a great time to go back through his texts
and regret the chances you didn't take.

Wish I wasn't thinking of you
Oh, I hate to miss you.

It hurts to miss you.

Hey it's just your remembrance messing up so much with me

I want to remind you
that I still haven't stopped thinking of you
and I have been unsuccessful
in plucking your memory out of my streams.

I miss you,
and sometimes I miss you more.

But i still miss you
i tried not to
and i waited
a month passed,
another -
another
it's five months already
some 150 days that is
How do you expect me
now
to not even cry?

I can't believe I wrote all of this. It was another phase. It came over me. I mostly tried to vent it out here.
This poetry on HP is a record file. And it is all true, but it's also so...different. I just read me differently today maybe that's why. But yeah, I was always under effect when I posted here.

I think it's impossible:
you and me, together
is impossible.

I can't see it happening
anytime soon,
yet it is all I will ever ask
God for.

Okay, I regret.
You've become a regret now.

I wish it wasn't so.

It doesn't matter, sweety
whether he thought of you or thought of you not
You did,
so take that out in this poem.

'tis not the right time
to miss people so much.
for some holes just never mend
some wounds never fill...
sleep, restless heart
sleep.

Today, I am not going to write poetry.
Today, I shall bleed poetry.

What is it with 3 A.M.
And memories?*

Heartbreaks hang like tassels
stitched on the fabric of my ever so weary heart
Red drips. Blips. Falls with the sound of a nail-scratch.

how could half of the world be sleeping
soundlessly and peacefully
while the other half cries and sighs?

It's been 40 days since I last saw you.
40 days since my stomach twisted that disgusting yearn-ish
and I haven't called you since
So it's 40 days of heavy, heavy courage
One that almost takes my life away
                  eversooften

"It is June. I am tired of being brave."
--Anne Sexton, The Truth The Dead Know.

I miss you, I think.

The world doesn't revolve around you
how hard is that to get?

I haven't as yet deleted your number. I sometimes open your chat window and the last time we talked blinks as an old, old date. Reminding me every time how it's not the time to still stay. That I should move on much like you did, but then you never cared enough in the first place.

I miss you a little because you left a part of yourself here. I told you I would miss you and I wasn't wrong. One thing I'm especially proud of is never claiming false love or promising you lands I couldn't ever let you enter. But you did that, and I hope someday guilt eats at you.

You lied about love!

I* wasn't looking for you
I had certainly turned back the moment I realized it was your name I was typing again
In fact, my fingers had. They had stopped.

Then why do you keep appearing everywhere? every time?
why can't I not be your slave? In intimidation when present, in distress when not.

A call for help
Sometimes sounds like
Hey. How was your day?
Because I really want to fill up
My silence
With a voice that isn't like the madman's shriek
The one who lives in my Mind.
And you
You are near. I won't destroy you
But please don't let me destroy myself.

you don't just get addicted to drugs
or drinks
or cigarettes or fire or holes or pain or knives
but thoughts and words and people and memories among all of which

memories are the worst.

It's kind of an addiction,
like one from an overused drug--
Your name.

I take it continuously
though it gives me no peace.
Only the injury widens;
and I rejoice in that pain.

how do you help obsessions? what when you get addictions?

what if I am addicted to the taste of silver in my mouth,
the burning wound

what if I am obsessed with your memory; the face, the voice?

what do I do?

And all of a sudden
it doesn't matter anymore.

Where you are,
where you were
why must I care?

We were already separated
by those invisible barriers.
Bound to some unseen threads.

You to me, and I to you
were illusions.
Like characters from a novel
striving to meet between lines,
shocked
by an unhappy ending
occurring all of a sudden.

You are sick because you are afraid.
Afraid of things you love (and him)
Afraid to get your heart broken (which might not)
Afraid to try out new (though you want to)
Afraid to come out of your comfort zone (why not?)
Afraid to let it be and afraid to not let it be (don't. over-think.)
Afraid of what you desire (so much)
Afraid of everything that scares you and should not. (you know it should not)
Afraid of not being good enough and scared of realizing that's okay... (it is!)
Afraid of... everything and (and)
Afraid of nothing.

Divorced music
Forsook diaries
Colors you liked
She now detests.

I write things
that hardly make sense.
But one day I will write things
that do make sense.

Now you appreciate poetry,
then, you will understand pain.

do you miss me ever like I do you?
does it haunt? bite? almost ****?

I'll forget you, right? It can't be that bad, I can't be in that mess again, can I?
It was wed mud I had found myself in, and I hadn't fully recovered from the scars
I can't be in for another damage, not a longer one, not this misery, not
the memory of you.

And You... you were the same.
Abuser. Destroyer.
The One Who Leaves.

be happy,
be happy,
be happy.
they all want you to be happy.
if you are not happy,
and if your mind
is fully occupied with a picture of a noose
hung on a ceiling fan
and you're imagining dripping blood
blib blib blib
then
apologize to your god.
and to yourself
say sorry, sorry, sorry
many a times
many, and many—
you need to
be happy
you're alive

we're all sorry messes
connected by spider-webbed realities
of universal emotions

Oh no, I do miss you still.

I miss you all the time.

If you ask me when, that I think will be hard to tell
because how do you describe each moment,
and the moments that come in between those?

I miss you when I wake up. I miss you until I sleep.
I miss you when I am happy, I miss you when in troubles deep.

It gives me pain to miss you so,
but there's nothing else I'd rather do.
Because if you're not here right in front of me,
how else am I to cope?
So I think and think of you, and die in bits inside.

I think and think of you, so you are always by my side.

i am afraid and alone and my
demons have broken loose
dunno what to do
cry?-- die?

Here is an apology
For each tear, every cut on your heart
And everything you feel you deserve one for
But never got.

Here is that apology which couldn’t reach you before
For your lost years, or lost months, or lost weeks
For the sound your bones make when you pull up from a non-sleep
To join another meaningless chase.
For the voice that no more chokes
On hearing, or saying, the word sorry
For your uncontrollable sobs of yesteryear
The memories of which you’ve swept under your chest
To be crushed by the burden of this same meaningless chase we know nothing about.

I cannot mend what is lost
I cannot even change what got wasted but I can hope
And I do. I hope for peace to find you and provide you with just as more strength as you need
Just more strength, as always,
Until you become your hero.
Again. Only this time more truly.

With love.

I miss you.
What do I do with myself?

You are not looking for me.

The frequent phrases bubbling from your mouth,
The sudden jolt that springs you out of bed at midnight,
The desperate attempt to set things right,
The thoughts, disappointments, the unforgiving fright.

your name and mine
are written on two
different books.
how can you fight
a destiny like that?

I could paint black and red and pink and glittery golden all over my face
and hands, and arms, and *******
and then spit painty ***** to see it turn into a galaxy
I could cut open my veins
and add flow to the piece
and I could maybe then attract
everyone else to admire this art.

i miss you without wanting to
i write words after words because that's all i can do
in our distancing was a calamity that had set my heart on fire
in my pining is the pain that is turning me to ashes.