Prose

The only inevitable conclusion to loss...
She remembers laying in bed with him one night, white and cold outside the window, holding each other she began to cry. Crying because of the love she felt and how it was calling her to confront the idea she held that love will always lead to inevitable loss.
By E'LISE2 years ago in Poets
Bitter Greens
Bitter greens Slithering unseen Through my dreams A strenuous subcutaneous existence Complaisance in a crime of the mind
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Praises to the lips
Hidden under the covers, Pink the flesh . Pink the lovers. Sethe as a bud waits to be bloom, Touch through the fingers, Long caresses short lingers.
By Sayaam Harz2 years ago in Poets
Love Language
Listening to slow jams in other languages I don’t speak their language But they hear all that languishes in my heart They cut through the pain
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
The Flavor of your Affections
You drank to numb yourself out from your own mind & thoughts. I drank for all the ones you shared. The ones that slipped through your lousy, loosened filter. The ones the drink decided were fine to be set free. Or maybe it's because of the drink, the filter could no longer prevent the thoughts from pouring out.
By Hayley Matto2 years ago in Poets
The atrocious contradiction of existence
The atrocious contradiction of existence How ironically does existence glare at our agony Drawing its muse in the hours of our ecstasy
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Love for Sale is a Misnomer
Besides a whole family home, people are lonely. Since the lockdowns from the pandemic, we haven’t been the same. The desperation for company and relationships is discernible. And the pain is real. How can we rebound? The proof is everywhere. Ads for online dating, incels looking for a connection willing to pay for a service that doesn’t exist. And yet, folks keep signing up, hoping for a miracle and being taken advantage of primarily by charlatans or bots. These days, incels talk to fake people without knowing the difference.
By Rene Volpi 2 years ago in Poets
Guilt
Guilt is a dog licking his dick behind you while you’re trying to work. It’s red wine losing its edge and cigarettes only giving you the urge to vomit. Guilt is being distracted by the world around you: the dog licking his penis, the bad wine, the cyber monday deals, and the rewards points you might get on your Amex shopping them. Guilt is denying that you believe in God despite buying tickets for Yom Kippur services in March. Guilt is giving a junkie your rent and avoiding the news when you realize you might have bankrolled his last hurrah. Guilt is thinking with your dick. Guilt is not sleeping (alone). Guilt is the privilege to lie. Guilt doesn’t go away because you write about a dog licking his dick; dogs do that every day. Guilt is the routine. Guilt is calling your mom too many times a day. Guilt is buying your girlfriend silver. Guilt tries to make you laugh. Guilt is like smoking. Guilt is the smell of dick on a dog’s breath. Guilt is pretending you’re a dog when you walk on two legs.
By Benjamin Butz-Weidner2 years ago in Poets
Regretful Blackout Aperitif. Content Warning.
Would you like to partake in this Regretful Blackout Aperitif? I am sure it will leave you with a brief belief that you are the chief of love of life, so sweet.
By Daphsam2 years ago in Poets
I'm Tired
I'm tired. I'm tired as if the marrow of my bones are recalling the last time they knew the sunlight. I'm tired, like my eyes could weep the tears of waterfalls long dried.
By Obsidian Words2 years ago in Poets
Oops side down
I don’t know what this is about It is the worst poem Without a doubt In my mind To be alone can be sublime But to feel alone
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
A Scar on My Hearts Ears
There is a scar on my heart’s ears It’s from all the years of abuse I got used to It makes it hard to hear when someone says
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets