Things were great

I stopped listening to music the same way
I could only find sadness in songs
Even in the happy ones.
It had been this way about 2 years
Then one day
You took my hand
I used to love being alone.
I used to take care of everything on my own.
Things were great.
Things were good.
I used to love being in my room
Watching a movie
Listening to a song
And sing along
Things were great.
Things were good.
In my darkest moments
I would crawl in my bed
Listening to music

Creation of the Golem

He floats toward me
like debris from a Shreveport wreck,
and in a last ditch effort to ban his jetsam
from washing up on my shore and decomposing
on freshly clean sheets,
I create a profile before god and country,
list six things I could never do without,
six things I don’t know what to do with,
tap my keyboard three times and post selfies,
bait to catch the wandering eye
and the charms of a local Lothario,
a blitz flirtation that leaves me watching
Netflix on most weekends, stuffing my face

A little too much

I felt the distance for the first time today
Reminiscing about how we would spend the day
Happy memories leave me sad
And its this very distance I hate.
I felt how it took you away from me
And you took a piece of me with you too
I felt how it shook me astray from you
With the piece of me that will always stay with you
Right within you and lay with you
From the morning until the night
invite you to my mind and incite you if you find the words I want to say to you
I fail to describe
The tragedy of this

Tomorrow Morning

Listen not to the words of envious,
and give no chance for the devil,
because devil is an open enemy
to mankind, and his aim is to destroy
every good deeds.

Let awake your spirit of love and
give no chance for discourages of mind.
For the one who love you so much is your
soulmate. Therefore, get hold of him,
so that he may not run away from you.
And let your hands be join with his,
so that you may becomes one forever.

Going Home

I left the cemetery that April day
And drove to the old farmhouse
Where I’d grown up.

Dead leaves shattered
As I walked around the house
I hadn’t seen in twenty years
The tree branch that had held the rope swing,
The grassy space by the woods where I’d played…

Still there.

The trees, just beginning to show new leaves
Let more light reach the ground than under summer’s
Dense canopy of green
Broken beer bottles, left by hunters, I guessed, lent sparks of light
To the dried leaves that had piled up for years


The sky is not finished
with us yet.
In 1930,
Imagine the borders of constellations
being drawn.
Some stars were stranded
between them.
How can this be
How can this be
but forgetting?


by archer

i can't stop thinking about your eyes. they remind me of black holes in space, deep, empty, mysterious.
 i adore them, and can't help but steal glances at them as you fix your eyeliner in the mirror.
 i can't stop thinking about when you said you admired me, when you said you wanted to be like me:
 i can't stop thinking about the way you laugh and the way you murmur swear words,
the way they roll off your tongue eccentric and ladylike.
i wish i could smile normal and say hello normal like you do to me in the halls of our barren school.


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