writeweird

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  • writeweird 1w

    heartbreak at 27

    wait, in your sleep,
    don't let them take you away
    before we meet

    for one last time then
    you can leave

    while you rest let me dress
    in a funeral morning

    stay with me until i
    forget how to breathe

    how to sing, how to speak
    for i'm nothing without you

    for all i ever did was to
    bleed dry for you

    in the cold afternoons
    to seethe jealously

    standing by your doors i
    keep watch helplessly

    to burn for all yours wants
    for all your needs

    that feed my desire
    to be warm

    filled with thoughts
    and dead seeds

    frolicking in your arms
    forever on repeat

    day after day
    into a dying forest

    that knows not what
    is grief

    sheltered by the moon
    many a lover seek,

    dying too soon.


    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 5w

    A starry night in the uncanny valley

    lights in the sky fighting,
    somewhere somebody's trying
    to put out the fire

    with bare hands and dying
    breaths, in ways no one could
    ever understand before

    there's more to a painting
    when you know how it ends

    every stroke made in haste
    and for no one else

    where the world is made and
    broken down for someone else

    there must be more than life
    if we could see into the distance

    more than just colours trying
    to seduce the mountains

    the rivers that run and hide
    from the preying atlas

    deep into the forests helm
    where the naked hide

    rains that fill the oceans
    before it's time

    swallowing the sunsets deep
    into its hallowed grave

    where gouls fall in love with
    wandering mermaids

    how beautiful you must be
    to reject the gods?

    the very essence of what
    it takes to beat a heart

    is captured now in still water
    and cascading waves

    perhaps one day we could
    swim carefree

    into the same approaching
    melancholy that has made a home
    inside the swirling storms

    the very winds that travel back
    and forth across this planet

    dwelling into nothingness and
    so far away from everything else

    maybe home isn't what keeps
    us from the outside --

    it is us playing make belief
    on the porch

    guarded by salt walls and lashing
    tongues

    the horrid stain on every artist's
    desk

    made in spirit of the restless and
    the tormented

    scattered words and memories
    wrestling with dreams and thoughts

    he who cannot speak might scream
    the loudest

    never judge a book by it's cover
    even if it's on fire.


    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 7w

    my head gently weeps (and the world is no more)

    while my head gently weeps
    & my soul is awake

    i find myself drifting
    a length in time

    & there's nothing that
    i can do

    but pass softly
    onto the next moment

    marked by days &
    months of restless afternoons

    breathless nights awake
    smoking aimlessly

    trying to recall your
    fading face &

    the things we used to
    talk about for hours a
    lifetime ago

    how is that every sad
    thought leads me back to
    you ?

    i guess i'm just waiting for you to
    tell me it's going to be okay

    --

    i'd swallow my own eyes
    if it helps me breathe

    i'd do anything for some
    company -

    even kiss death

    one day to disappear
    never to be seen again

    pointless

    perhaps this is life
    after all


    --

    fighting sermons that
    never fail to evoke a feeling
    of dread & heaviness

    resting on my chest

    & making its way through
    my fragmented thoughts

    --

    while my head gently weeps
    & the moon glides across
    the beautifully laden sky

    i hear the sound of a
    car speeding across the
    lonely road

    perhaps i'm not the last
    man to exist tonight

    here where i'm supposed
    to perish,

    i'll search for civilisation.


    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 9w

    I love Charlie Kaufman, my twitter name is dedicated to him, and so is this poem. i hope you enjoy it.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @readwriteunite
    #writersnetwork #movie #film #poetry #poem
    #dark #fantasy #abstract #other #dark #love

    Read More

    Charlie Kaufman

    somedays I'm more scared
    than the others

    more susceptible to the
    diseases of the mind

    that lay their bare hands
    on my chest and

    weave it down

    hammer on the uncertainty
    of the coming morning

    meld the steel that dangles
    from the ceiling

    waiting to pounce at any
    unsuspecting moment of
    failure and dread

    in the dead of the night
    when the sun awakens

    and ever so suddenly
    the moon bursts into flames

    all the stars falling in a
    fiery ball of madness

    circling the streets sniffing
    at the despair that haunts the
    dreams of crying children

    lost to the dark alleys and
    smoke, and powder

    perching on the threads of
    looming crisis of faith and
    all things miserable

    the melancholy of which is
    lost on the swaying trees and
    the singing birds

    the lonely man living up
    in the mountains has no inkling
    of the cascading apocalypse

    that is all over the news in
    small fine words while an angry
    man screams at people for
    not paying attention to what he's
    saying

    over and over again until
    it's time to show the magic
    of make belief

    only if magic was a real thing
    so many things would have been
    possible

    the world would be a different
    place albeit a similar one

    the kind that lives in your
    head and prospers in your mind

    the kind Charlie Kaufman
    knows about.

    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 9w

    Skin deep (Morning Prayer)

    underneath the skin
    fish swim in circles

    & all the words I've kept
    have turned to Ash and
    I've been keeping to myself

    behind these four walls
    there's no ceiling to climb
    & my head won't stop bleeding

    there are no feelings
    in my piggy-bank

    I've used all the change
    and I'm still the same

    every morning I wake up
    thinking about you

    & the life we could've
    had, the life I could've had

    but I couldn't do it to you
    couldn't do it for you

    maybe I deserve nothing
    & that's why I keep myself
    from jumping over the fence

    & running away forever
    into the sunset

    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 10w

    untitled heartbreak

    to grieve at a moment's
    notice
    to sail without the
    winds

    smile carelessly
    on a crowded street

    yes, she was
    fearless

    she was the night &
    the stars

    she could be the sea
    she could be the forest

    and she was.

    she was
    everything to me

    she made things
    better & beautiful

    tuesday evenings
    reading a book by
    the window

    how could somebody
    be so amazing on a boring
    tuesday ?

    she was the story I
    wanted to tell drunk at the bar
    at sixty on a lazy saturday

    how could i not
    want her ?

    to write myself into
    her story

    for her to see me
    & to see her when she
    wasn't looking

    to notice her do the
    mundane and smile like
    a child at an amusement
    park

    even when the fire
    was burning my skin &
    making her way to my
    heart

    when they were lowering
    me to the depths of
    nothingness

    know that i was still thinking
    of her
    not a thing was out of place

    & the world was
    beautiful as ever.


    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 11w

    Atlases

    the ripe winds
    perch upon the threads of
    western disturbance

    trading through the
    vastness of liquid turmoil

    flowing and cutting
    across the narrowest
    of vengeance

    that has laid upon
    this land flourishing
    under a disguise:
    of mere nothingness and
    certain similarity;

    for who knows
    what converses with the
    frigid north

    and talks to the
    passes of the mighty
    peaks of middle Asia

    walking past the grandeur
    of the Himalayas, and it's
    many ancient towns

    where no other
    has been of any importance
    whatsoever

    there in the sweet solace
    of solitude and crisp sunrises

    i find myself dreaming
    of the tranquil winds, and
    ancient passageways:

    far from Nazareth and
    the cradle of men

    where the old brick
    roads now sleep in dusk

    and there's nothing
    left to conquer

    built upon the spectacular
    -- on this olden earth

    i find myself yearning
    for little things.

    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 15w

    there's nothing as joyless as watching a poet struggle.

    -- unknown



    #poem #despair #dark #thoughts
    #free #verse #scattered #spiral
    #incoherent #break #painting #cold
    #room #wait #rough #draft #anarchy

    Read More

    crying for september: an incoherent piece by a fragile mind

    fold me in threads
    a thousand pieces alike

    carve me instead
    of setting the sun alight

    -- defiled.

    there's always more than i
    seek in my head

    if i hold my breath
    cut my throat

    i love you so

    maybe I'll kill myself
    next tuesday

    there's a storm on
    the offering

    by the window

    i wonder if this
    month will ever end

    how about tomorrow
    when it is sunny and
    bright

    all things considered
    i don't think i prefer the blue
    skies anymore

    maybe something more
    grey and tired

    like an autumn afternoon just
    before the winter

    whence the air is crisp
    and there's ambient silence

    like a painting you cannot
    stop staring at

    maybe it is september
    i cry for after all

    i hope it's not october.


    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 16w

    there's no title for despair

    as old as summer days
    and now i must grieve

    there's a morning to tend to
    another nightmare to cry

    that old tv occupies far too space
    in my mind

    collecting dust and silence in
    words i do not yet know how to speak

    maybe I'll talk to myself
    next tuesday

    there's a storm on
    the offering

    they say walls can listen
    you scream

    but no one ever visits this
    rusty old house

    where the night falls ever
    the same

    and people go to sleep
    as if nothing has ever happened

    perhaps it's not my story
    that the world cares for

    nor am i his favorite child and
    the thought scares me

    what if there's no one
    to pray to

    on a day you have much
    to pray for


    ©writeweird

  • writeweird 17w

    purple//her

    wait for me before you disappear, hold
    -- you had my heart
    take from me everything i swear, all your memories and all your scars

    so, you were my summer's sun,
    winter's cold --
    you were the mountains, rivers
    that have cut me sharp

    you were my crowded streets,
    my only hope --
    arms to grow old, quiet nights
    with no stars

    maybe if the world wasn't so small
    we'd never fallen apart

    maybe if the words weren't so cruel
    we'd never fallen apart

    and the fire would've found
    it's way to the sparks,

    before the lights go out.

    ©writeweird