Tag Archives: lost

nighttime neon

dreams of you

they keep me

company and

i feel at home,

but then i wake

up, and i feel so

l o s t and a.l.o.n.e.

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games and names

the shit that

i do to have

my fair bit

of blithe fun

the dignity

we lost and

the awkward

reputation

the shit that

i do just to

play with you

honey, there

ain’t a thing

i wouldn’t do.

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My Maiden of Lena

It was there in the winter, bleak and quite bitter

My maiden of Lena rested her heart

From her star studded hair to her very skin fair

Her purple eyes seek another restart

Under branches of Saturn she weaved soft her cavern

My maiden of Lena conceived fresh nights

Where the seas send their tide and no gravity abides

Her clasping hands captured faerie lights

Oh, humility endure, for her soul was too pure

My maiden of Lena tempted the beasts

Tragedy to cure! Must the Seraphs be too sure?

Her tiring legs carried her to the feast

Now lay she serene mourned in rosemary and naphthalene

My maiden of Lena sings lullabies

Her rested heart glows a feverish sheen, gone my innocent queen

Her fading lips whispered a lost goodbye.

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A Kid Named Deal

Where’s my poor child gone?

Played badly by his guardian

Where’s my poor child gone?

Kidnapped by a skeevy man

Where’s my poor child gone?

A year has passed and come

Where’s my poor child gone?

Pulled a card out and he won.

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Six: Lost

i’m

lost;

it’s

all

your

fault.

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Lost in Twilight

I’ll find repose in new ways
Though I haven’t slept in two days
‘Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone
But drenched in vanilla twilight
I’ll sit on the front porch all night…

~*~

The horizon is on fire, and the sky is a silver ocean

Rippling in flames, liquid sluice in delicate motions

That sun is a pyre requiem, extinguishing the moon

Mine sweetheart dawn might blink back quite soon

The stars are singing, they’ll spare you a goodnight

Pray for umbra lullabies’ charm to return their lights

The horizon dwindling down, the pacific sky recedes

Colliding with chromatic, every colour you’ll perceive.

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ashen glances

don’t blink

or your

delicate

grey eyes

might sift

away with

the wind,

billowing

like dust

particles

that make

you cry,

coalescing

with empty

air breathing

oxygen,

and leaving

nothing

but a

stray tear

and your

lost memory.

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Second chances, they don’t ever matter

I’m an impossible person, a total mess

I haven’t got any clue

I lose my grips on foolish contrivances

That much is all true

But I found someone, a damaged man

Though I never knew

You are the only one who understands

And now I lost you too.

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don’t count your coins in the wishing well

the way

the fields

collapse away

it’s beautiful,

isn’t it?

I thought it will

save us all.

a million dollar

painting

for a museum

on the moon

making us

look

like anthills

on the mountain.

this planet

is too dumb

to avoid despair

wholeheart;

and they’ve

been nursing that

cup of coffee

for ten hours

now,

hoping to reduce

the headache;

but like

cigarette stains

and ink

on their lips

and red and gold

medal ribbons,

it never

does fade.

yet,

the way

the revolution

sings with orbit

and crashes

with lives,

it’s beautiful…

isn’t it?

i thought it

will save me.

so where did

everything

go?

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Lost Work

As a writer, you have had those insanely frustrating moments where, perhaps by your own careless fault or perhaps by unforseen circumstances, you accidentally delete your work, when it’s already a lengthy output and you’ve been slaving at it and typing it down for literal hours. And no matter how hard you tried, begged, or prayed to the million feasible gods, goddesses, and any ethereal entities that may chance upon to listen to your unfortunate situation, it’s all futile, and you’re still unable to get it back. With no backup copy and unwilling to recreate the same rendition, you just sink in a depressing state of regret and drown in an ocean of violent expletives, as you think vexingly about how your work is forever, vanished into the blue, swallowed down the drain, evanesced into nothingness, ultimately disintegrated into the goddamn aether where all lost ideas all go to fucking die.

…Now only if the problems and anxieties that you inputted in that lost work would just as easily disappear with it.

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