Hours That Follow, A Poem Draft From Book #3

There’s something about the midnight hour, I can’t understand how it works, or if it calms my soul enough to heal my battle wounds.

Either way, it builds my core, to the point of nausea. You push yourself to the edge and somehow recover, just to fall back on your word again.

It’s a continuous cycle, the same routine of thought, as time leads you on a journey.

You can either hide in denial, or confront your darkest personality traits in depth.

To cut ties with fear of abandonment, a need for approval; Am I losing touch with reality or am I too aware of my own weaknesses and destructive mindset?

It takes a lot to admit defeat, and admit that you’re a broken individual.

So for the time being, love your fellow entities that surround the halls of your mind. For the present hour, cherish the hours that follow.

Be fearless, love the obstacles that test you. Kill the fear that haunts your path.

Free the mind, cure the anxiety of not knowing what’s going to happen next.

Heart On The Line

“This poem is a favorite of mine. I feel like it should be in the yet-to-be-released book, although the process is still ongoing. But you can always comment below and tell me what you think. Yay or Nay?”

The idealistic expectations of what is to be, is at times melancholy at best.

We seek redemption in the arms of strangers but for whom is this comfort suited?

Driven into the arms of someone else out of spite. Dusk until dawn, the nostalgic lust could last for weeks on end.

The picturesque beauty of love was slowly tainted by the broken promises on our bedroom nightstand.

For a minute, it would be heaven to pretend, that an illusion like this could be of greater proportion and depth.

Written out by hands cold from rejection and eyes blinded by devotion to a falling grace upon the stars.

You put your heart on the line, but at what cost?

depth of thought

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It’s never as lovely as the movies depict it, neither as pleasant as we’d like it all to be.
We rarely voice concern over the things that trouble us the most, but we ought to.

I would have appreciated more willingness to listen, regardless of understanding,
but it seems like I’ll never truly get that closure that everyone longs to gain,
from the moments of deep thought, which I am sure; we all have.

There are moments I gain strength from living in dark of my abilities,
but other times, all you feel is bitter blows of reality toppling your chest,
to the point where it really couldn’t get worse, even if you tried.

Life is a strange thing, in all sense of the word.

I’m rather fond of what surrounds me, but-
it does feel quite empty at times…

unrequited emotion

When love hurts; it’s the real kind. I found myself saying that,
as I bit my tongue and patiently waited for tears to stop falling down.
I’ll be okay, you said. stupid enough, but I fell for that lie.

Years down the line, here I am. I feel more broken than ever and it’s all because I can’t seem to let go of past memories that now haunt my soul like a skeleton in the closet.

As the days turn into months and then so forth, you start to feel empty inside, like nothing could hurt you more because it’s already too painful. I trusted you when you said I’d be okay, that it was okay to feel like this as long as I knew it was going to get better.
I now found it all to be a complete lie. I found it wasn’t better, no improvement in the slightest and I feel like a fool for thinking I could believe you after your departure.

I’m sure everyone’s thinking the same; poor girl, having a pity celebration for days.
although, it was far worse; it was the definition of ice-cold hatred towards self.

Sure, they both are pretty much the same thing, but I guess it depends…

I’ve found solace in written drafts, hidden notes all over the web.
personally, it’s a relief to pour my emotions out in peace like this.
I know, I’m not the greatest writer or artistic creation – I’m a mess.

Honestly, poems are a loophole, a sense of belonging and unconditional support, something that will never just stand up and walk out the door, or tell you it doesn’t love you anymore, unlike the people who walk in and out of your life as if your existence is fading. I write to free my soul of pain, to feel the weight fall off my shoulders, just to feel alive once again. I’m sure it means little or nothing to others, but without my creativity, I’d most likely not be here anymore and that’s just how that is. I feel it completes me, strengthens me and helps me rise from the ashes no matter how badly I burn in the fire of the moment and the pain of old tragedies. Nostalgia finds itself around me still though.

As I write this, I overthink the concept without intent, I censor my mind to sound less of a crazy person than I already think I am. I judge my every word before anyone gets a chance, I find myself writing all the things my mind is thinking. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, neither do I even know the difference. but regardless, here I am; as bare and brutally honest as a person will ever be, sharing a piece of me I’d usually keep to myself.

Writing in general helps me cope, it’s the one thing I turn to in times of pain.

 

 

the heart has a mind, and it adores you

The faces are always you, by the looks of it, and I’m tired of pretending like I don’t love that, or the fact you make me ever so smitten, despite the amount of distance between us. It could be years from now and I’d still feel your hologram hand on my shoulder, flickering lights go off in my head and I am alive once again. The day you touched my soul, it turned gold. Memories live on inside of my mind and I don’t think I’ll ever want to forget your effect. As crazy as it seems, you’re a dream come to light, angels and demons would have a fight when it comes to your source of energy. It was a mix of good and bad, the kind of balance anyone would lean over for, would fight all their lives to gain just an ounce of. You see drugs on a table as a bad influence, but not the walking temptations that roam the streets, breaking the hearts of doomed souls for a laugh. Addictions can rise from a simple touch to a captivating smile. Anything or anyone can make you feel alive. Even your worst enemy can give you something you’ve never had, life is full of twists and turns, and we’ll never learn, because that’s a part of our lives, we make a mess, we make amends, but the heart stays true to it’s belief.

nostalgia bites

It’s been a long time to forbid emotions to run like a water tap
love drips all into my heart and I am lost for words
mainly because it’s drowning in lust

The image of yours is stuck in my brain like a virus
I can’t get rid of you nor do I want to erase you
from my heart, or my brain, or my dreams

I am taken aback by these strong waves of depth
intense nostalgia running through my head
forever lost in standing time.

dying for a touch of paradise

I simply can’t get you out of my head
& I wonder if I ever will at this point

a single thought of you drives me insane
with desire to kiss & tell about your soul

magnificent piece of art
whom consumes my mind

madness called unconditional love

you’re like the tattoo I don’t have yet
an image in my head that I’m obsessed with

you’re like the book I haven’t gotten to read
yet the cover is stuck in my head

you’re like the sun that hasn’t shined
yet the rays of light is what I need

you’re like the bad habit I’m currently fighting against
yet it makes me feel so alive whilst losing my breath

you’re the soulmate I wish I could have held
yet I know I can’t look back on damaged love

you’re the world I want to see and explore
but I know I probably won’t see it all

I’m sick of many things, including my love for you
yet it’s the only thing that makes me want to be alive
and try a bit harder to succeed in this path of life

I see you as my world, my sun, my moon
my good, my bad, my heart
my love, my all.

Poem: Back Of Mind

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A poem by me:

There’s a song in my head but it doesn’t exist yet
Perhaps the bittersweet melody of life,
That others like to describe.

Or the nostalgic beat of a broken heart’s skip on repeat,
Regardless of the content; I am forever smitten.

Either by your smile, or the haze of false hope,
Whatever it is, it’s in the back of my mind.