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purgatorypoetry · 5 hours ago
There was time when I was lost. Spirits and carnal longing that could not be tamed only beaten ego meshed my reality within a dreamland I did not want to wake from.
Was it all in my imagination, did I lost identity?
I don't think I can ever recover.
If you found me once maybe you can again. Maybe you can divine me from the phantoms that haunt your everything maybe I could be more than the strands of your hair you brush away in the wind.
What parts of me are still you and how can I remove them? Where do I put them when I do? How can I lock you away or hold you at bay when you fall through my fingers like sand?
Why is there blood on my hands?
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purgatorypoetry · 5 hours ago
I don’t think I’m in love with my so anymore
fuck....ok I can work with that -
hold you as a memory, six-inches, six-thousand-million-miles away, and there you’ll stay, I’ve been screaming into the void of space but here sound cannot propagate and I forget for a moment that I also cannot breathe and I am starting to freeze and my transmissions shall soon surely cease,
you’re not going to understand or at least at least I don’t understand why I can’t see where you’ve gone
watch your footprints press and slowly lift from the softer carpets hear your pacing across the harder floors that I only fall through,
permeate a dying dream of you.
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purgatorypoetry · 8 hours ago
she’s gone, no, she’s a burning in my throat she’s a ghost in the back of my head and she won’t stop creaking about the floors at night she’s gone no, she’s here within me every moment I can’t breath every night I can’t sleep every time I catch my hands shaking,
she’s gone, no, she’s a trigger to my self destruction she’s a damage path tracked through the better part of the best part of my life and she’s beautiful, so beautiful she’s kind she’s warm she’s no longer mine (she is wise)
and I no longer hers, tack my skin upon the wall above the hearth let the flames warm me up again I’m still just so cold I am so cold and she is gone
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purgatorypoetry · 10 hours ago
I can do this spit through clenched teeth through the burn of bile in the back of my throat - it’s going to be messy, the seams that were once smooth now rubbed bare and showing through the cracks where the water of so many winters settled and froze the wedge I drove between me and my sanity,
Lo, no, no I meant low I mean what streetlight though yonder gutter puddle traipse I tell you jesus walked on water, too - bless me father spilt like blood on the altar some fickle little fuck all fumbled and faltered my knees creak a symphony and I can only go so much farther,
Further, weigh courageousness against ignorance against stupidity and see who laughs last - let me be a fool in my bliss let me not see you like this
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sincerelysharon · 11 hours ago
And what if we were told to begin again? To start this story over, in a different life, in a different world, in a different dream. We might not find each other, let alone love and be loved by each other. And frankly, I find that beautiful because it must mean that in this world, in this life, in this dream, we were meant for each other. Every decision we made, didn't make, chose or didn't choose, brought us together. Not a predetermined narrative but this exact world, life, dream. We belong uniquely in this place together. Only in this reality are we special to these circumstances, we love under these circumstances. I think that's beautiful.
we belong uniquely in this place together // s.g. 
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luna-rav · 11 hours ago
It's going to be so damn hard one day. You will be waking up with a completely different scenery. The person you once constantly woke up to will be gone. They won't be beside you anymore. It will feel as if you have experienced your first death, it feels like losing a part of you. It may not just be the person themselves but the world you had with them. Sometimes, I think, people who are dear to us will come to a point where they are dispensable. The only things that will remain is their memories with you. After all, people will change to the point of no recognition but their memories will stay with you.
One day, you will have to let go of this person. I know, we think we'll be with them forever, but there will always be an end. It's just a matter of how soon it is. It's either death of a feeling, death of a moment, or just death in its literal sense.
— Luna Raven, "I choose to celebrate the present moment with you. As we make memories, I choose to live today without much thought for tomorrow. However, I think I also need to be aware that the end is looming over our love and so that makes me want to enjoy every single moment with you more than ever."
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lebuc · 12 hours ago
ground zero
* as there's a planned return to our previously scheduled program
called life;
channeling the close comfort of home with homies,
& friends no longer on the fringes of our social circle;
we oughtn't fault the gestalt we've grown
accustomed to - these past few months -
sailing the seven seas in our ship of fated fools, wrecked
(i've used this metaphor before)
& it behooves us to be patient as we regain a walking gait aground
before sprinting fresh out of the gate toward the groove of a good life,
grown in the germ-free groves of what we gentle folk knew as living
day-to-day, in the mix, in the fray in the best possible sense - no joke -
heroically stoked to rise & shine, place one foot after the next 
on whatever trail we'd dare to stake at ground zero, with an uninvaded body,
a clear-ish mind; daring instead to boldly go
where the infirm simply fear to tread. * 6/21 - lebuc - ground zero  
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poets-wonderland · 13 hours ago
As I gaze across Lady Blue, I see her reflection sparkle cross the bay, as its unremitting waves submerge my feet and engulf my heart with her malleable kisses.
"Lady Blue" - by Nico, Photograph by Jinn
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poets-wonderland · 14 hours ago
Love is like a shadow that follows you around and slowly crawls over you. Then… when you least expect it, your shadow becomes your best friend and you discover that you are in love and cannot live without his innumerable presence in your life.
“Love Is Like A Shadow” by Nico, Artwork by ig@keeping_it_sketchy
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purgatorypoetry · 19 hours ago
your teeth in my neck, taste, you once called me sweet - I remember you in waning moonlight firefly embers smeared between your fingers and I loved you then, innocently and sweetly madly completely I gave you things I never got back (keep em)
step with a limp now, it’s alight -
your teeth to the concrete and I’m nothing but apologies - I remember you in waxing streetlights and habits we could neither control, love and dope and desperation and that copper taste to a concussion the shallow breath of a blade to a throat
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poemsnotpromises · 19 hours ago
For long lost ghosts.
I hope you know
wherever you are
that I didn't know
it was the last time
the last time
I got to see you.
I've spent
my whole life
crying for ghosts,
never considering
you wouldn't want to
haunt me anymore.
We both know
I was never worth scaring.
I only wanted to be.
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coyote-graveyard · 20 hours ago
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env0writes · 21 hours ago
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Cicada Sentences 11. “Blessing #1 Blarneytongued”
If I wrote my blessings down onto a page I would let it age, and conflagrate Irritate, and start to replicate those boons to ashen phage So you, and I, and us could watch and wait As they twist, and dance, and spin Let me fold that paper up into a proper form Something warm, familiar to touch my skin Even a glancing pass will feel a win against the raging storm Outdoors, and inside, filled with fun-house mirrors Telling me my fear is, or is not behind me It is getting a little hard to to be in good cheer;-er Finding how to be near-er, to one another as to be Or not be, questioning myself, and one another My brother tells me to be stoic and compartmentalize Little does he realize, how many shelves and cabinets I have to cover Just to keep myself alive, tired of telling lies Coating all my penciled pages fool and full of stages I have performed on for the world is my theater At what age should I have started folding paper cages Origami boxes, shapes, and animals as they were Written up and folded up If only that was my trajectory Finding ways to occupy myself as to not interrupt My friends, with whom I’m eager to share in victory
So if I wrote my blessings on a page Let me fold it into something worth my age Set a flame or cast to sea And watch them go where I cannot be
Ko-Fi & Venmo ||| @Zenv0 C.Buck | Env0 Writes
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memoirofme · a day ago
Just as the faded leaves on trees that cannot help from falling at September's call,
Or the wind that dies down when the sun is forced to settle..
You are are as set in stone as a season, and as true to your word as the moon promising it can sheild me in it's light forever.
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poemsnotpromises · a day ago
Five Hours.
I am so tired
of death always
nipping at my heels,
of watching the bodies
pile up and fracture
my family,
over and over
until one day
it'll just be me
in this broken world,
the scent of death
in the air
finally come to
catch me too.
I am tired
of not being believed
in, of not being enough
to satisfy you or
myself, of
every breath
being exhausting,
of never really
reaching my full
I am so goddamm awake.
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env0writes · a day ago
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Cicada Sentences 10. “I Will Meet You At The Horizon Line”
You and I are both blue With melancholy, morose, we mope But of what saturation, what hue? How do we align with jagged edges shall we cope?
You are blue like the sky above Colorful shades in higher place and purpose Accented by the highlighting sun, white clouds, and doves Streaked with colors the rising setting sun throws
I am blue like the sea beyond As dark and grey and blue and clear Only at the horizon may I meet your farewells so fond There and only there, are you ever so near
In the highest part of day Where we are so far the dark beyond Towards the horizon we are reaching; as if to say Although we’ll never meet, of you, I’m always fond
Ko-Fi & Venmo ||| @Zenv0
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purgatorypoetry · a day ago
In between loves, one that has my past with a history that is engraved in my chaos; and a present with a future that does not seem so clear but i want so badly to become. Maybe in this life, maybe not?
lost between the pages of my story, unwritten - now contrite, god's smite as a swift right hook and I am smitten, count the rotations with me she is a dancer she is a celestial body she is beautiful and she is burning, it's carved into stone it's chiseled into my bones it's smeared in ancient ash upon the walls of the eye of my storm / what promise pressed between your palms? where do we go when we're asleep if we forget how to dream? I want to tell you it all makes sense later on, it doesn't. you realize the fundamental differences between stones and sand but sometimes you just have to build wherever there's open land
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learningto-write · 2 days ago
“All kids are impatient from time to time. Some kids have a harder time waiting their turn than others.”
Waiting is unlike anything else. The creeping feeling up your soul, reminding you that not yet; it it coming, but not arrived. There is still more to come.
That feeling, that there is more ahead but we need to only wait. That feeling keeps me alive.
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purgatorypoetry · 2 days ago
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To the mountains, the feigned permanence of a dream, hazy and half-imagined - And to the evergreens in their defiance of mortality, to their silent testimony of true and perfect stillness. To the clouds of lauded challenge, the hidden forces of spite and envy held within some celestial kiss. All loving embraces and intertwined fingers and arms that reach on forever. To my foolish endeavor - My presumptive pursuit of cataloguing that which evades simple definition - And to my foolhardy mission, where my eyes hang slate grey but forever refuse to wipe clean And to all the other imaginatively defiant things, twilight birdsong painted across an infinite flaming blue - All those fragile, pretty things, and you.
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