My world is so silent of joy now, heartbreaking so, my phone no longer pings with your words of love princess. I hear nothing but the streaming of my tears and the echo of your voice in my head.
I no longer hear laughter or singing or music, I no longer hear my heart skipping beats as my phone rang knowing you were on the line. I hear the cracking and breaking of my heart now, the blood as it pours freely from the wounds you left me with. I hear the shattering of my soul over and over on a daily basis and the screams that accompany my cries, I hear my own sobbing in the black of night as I hold my chest so tight. I hear the nightmares that invade my sleep, I hear the shock to my system as I wake, I hear then my realization that you are gone and the shattering and breaking starts over before long.
No escape from the noise of pain, no escape from tears that stain, no escape from my own head, no escape, I’ve been told……you are dead.
I just love writing, its therapy for me. I love reading other poems, getting inspired, feeling the pain or happiness that lie within the paragraphs or lines. I work in the medical field where I see decline in health everyday, death, and depression, its easy to get lost in the grim reality of it all. But writing is a way for me to escape, reading is a way for me to escape, So here I am. :)
Like a double edged knife That cuts deep and rife Like a cold winter breeze That makes everything freeze Like the sting of a bee Excruciating it would be Like a hot summer heat Unbearable it could be Like an
Behind your face was cleaver releasing past poem. The sensual milk flows from the palm into your lake. Grieving for the torn wings of pink light. Cruising on thighs with eyes closed death utters a shriek. The eternal flame closes
Its a different kind of heartache Where tears dont flow, Its a different kind of pain Which people dont choose to show, Its the thing which people dont understand Untill they stand at our place. They keep judging us Without
When logic and intuition stood on edge of time, sugar was dancing on the salt lake. I would not see the torn book between retreat and assault. I was reining in the new moon. In a night raid, five peacocks