Tags » Attempts At Poetry

Rainy Day Junkie (Trigger Warning)

I watch the tears from the clouds
running down my window pane
and I wonder where you are.
Do you have a needle in your arm? 75 more words
Based On Real Events

Conversation with the Undertaker


Today I want to walk with you
down the fire escape to where the boxes 
and the trash cans look like treasures
and where you have a short conversation with a man
Then I want to clamber back up
and hear you tell me to be careful now,
not to run

I want to spin around at the top of the stairs
and see your eyes light up
when you grab me and lift me 
high - high up to the brass butterfly
and the pipes that sing
I feel you kiss me on my cheek
and lay your hand on my head
You pour yourself some brandy. 36 more words
Based On Real Events

There Is No Grey

I am detached.


I feel no love, anguish or hatred
to make my pulse rate variate
enough for a chemical switch 
I feel the numbness 
of the emotional winter
tightening its grip on my soul

Right now I 
am not here
and right now I 
don't love you
It feels like I 
will never love you again
and as if I 
never did

Can you hear me not connecting? 42 more words
Poetry

The Follower

1:17 AM
insomnia, a cruel friend,
watches over my shoulder 
as I sip hot milk and honey and watch the pixels
dancing on a glaring screen
behind which no-one lives
besides the unknown foreign man
who likes writing on your wall
and the selfie-girl
who does not give a damn 
about whether you live or die tonight -
as long as you Like her photo
And the people who's names you know
and whose faces you've seen
and who called you 'friend'
are ever-silent and have become
a collection of pixels
The only constant but unwanted friend 
is following the blinking cursor
from behind your tired eyes
and from within your racing mind
as you finish writing
at 1:24 AM
so that you can fool yourself
with some hot milk and cinnamon...
1:31 AM...
Poetry

Transference

From my loins
a frail boy-child with wild black hair
And he needed me
to shield him -
against 
what?
Too many things to count
but yet I counted
with such frantic life-sucking anxiety
that I missed my own reflection
in the cracked mirror
on the wall of his childhood
where my shadow kept the sun away
and my fears became his own

Poetry

Looking Back (an attempt at poetry)

These struggles crossing the rivers of life

seem so needless when I am weak

but only once I turn back again

(to see where I have been) 29 more words

Poetry

Incognito

She’s got a strong back;

it steadies her against the procession of lack-

luster days that pile up and stack

themselves there, next to the crack, 23 more words

Attempts At Poetry