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a paradigm of solitude,
a monotone reprise.
she's desperate for a little break
to stop and shut her eyes.
a symphony of tragedy,
a prayer in disguise.
she walks her path so stoically,
but all their hymns are lies.
a disbelieving audience,
a concert of goodbyes.
she's desperate for a little break
to stop and shut her eyes.
These twisted tales,
Carved in my mind.
Turned bitter and blind
From frantic fright.
Numbed from nettles
That poke me at night.
Accept the strangles
That choke me so tight.
Feeling only the dark
And hiding from light.

These walls
Have spoken a thousand tales.
Yet still,
They pound,
Like thunder and hail.
It’s going to be a good Christmas day
I wake up and say

As I rise from my bed
My eyes become to dread

The ugly sight I see
For what could cause this misery

A candle still on fire
It burns in tune with desire

A tree knocked down
With ornaments on the ground

The house is so empty
For what spirits could lift me

Leaks all through the ceiling
Who else could lose this much feeling

The sun that burns low
What used to be home has lost its glow

A table set for one
For visitors there will be none

And when I sleep tonight
I wish to dream of something bright
It’s all the same
It all the same
I tell myself over and over
A different night, a different light
Yet I look in the mirror sober
But who’s to blame
Who’s to blame
rk 6d
despite knowing
how it ends
despite the loss
the emptiness carried
over hundreds of moons
despite the ghosts
haunting these halls
i would love you
and lose you
a thousand times over
just to call you
mine
once more.
He looks up screaming why
The noise and lights all flutter around him
The sky is black and the earth cry’s out on the rim
As many others go by and by

For he failed himself again
In the light of the dark, he remains unscathed
His tears are more than enough to fill a car
He steps into the busy street, waiting for his life to end
Each day a letter comes
Each night it goes unread
Sometimes they stack up like moldy bread
But each week they’re burned in a drum

The weather says clear, but the sky’s need to cry
Poison in the air has taken many lives
Even us here have to learn to survive
On planes the bodies are sent back of the ones who died

I try for a walk and see his shadow
I don’t get far but down the street
To an old coffee shop where we would meet
I order a drink and watch the crows

On my walk home, the trees look bare
The concrete is growing strong on the grass
And the flags are all set to half mass
In the mailbox, is a letter from Vietnam; with a slight tear
Viktoriia May 5
mornings are slipping away in a blur,
patterns of certain habitual sadness.
words with no meaning,
disease with no cure.
porcelain dolls, both lifeless and ageless.
haunted by visions, hidden in mirrors,
wrapped in despair, victims and sinners,
chasing the rush of the next final turn.
decades are slipping away in a blur.
I am cold ,
Like ice.
My soul sunk
Like the sun at night.
And though I tried
To leave you behind,
The thoughts of you
Did not subside.
They wandered
About,
Inside my mind,
Climbed great heights
Like clouds of sky.
But clouds,
They rain,
As did my eyes.
For now,
My heart,
Has left to die.
DET May 3
Merely a bonehead like myself can utter,
"Pardon me..."
For another fleeting life...

Again, another agonizing memory,
Clinging onto me like thorns in my soul.

The fact that your presence cannot be witnessed
It haunts me in whispers...

The poison that was mine, thy lips kissed,
And the pain you endure, myself hath to sow...
Thy departure ...

And once again, another fleeting life...

Whilst the grief settles down once more,
My mind is mentally pounded...
Myself dare saith no more...

For I am mentally absent once again...
Death of a pet. Born on February 2, 2024, and died on May 1, 2024.
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