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You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Member
Apr 17, 2018
34
*I’m aware I’m no master poet-- it’s average, but this morning was especially difficult and this is what resulted from the come down.*

They claim that 3 ams are for the lonely and heartbroken
But have you ever bartered with a god you’ve never seen, in anguish on a Tuesday at 11 am
Fervently crying for less time while the neighbors enjoy lunch
Craving peace from your demons and it’s not even noon
3 am or 3 pm doesn’t matter if you’ve already given in to defeat

Life’s greatest joke
They way It has mastered dangling sleep in front of your nose only to snatch it away after a mere 7 hours
You were young once and knelt for more things or better people
But the carpet lost its worn spots years ago
Instead your prayer is silently given from the place your spine sags into your mattress
Ever so vulnerable
Always pleading for less
Aching at the thought of another Tuesday afternoon choking on your bedroom floor
Unable to hold your lungs together
Your ribs adorned with burning streaks where you tried to bury your agony
Blindly clawing until marrow clings to your fingernails afraid it’s the only cage you can break

Can you forgive me even when I can’t forgive myself
I became a stranger without my permission
Please forgive me
I’ve learned to replace people with pills
Rumour is that you can exchange every Tuesday for a small fee
The cost is one bottle and everyone I have ever known or been
1,000 unanswered prayers wasted
But this is my new supplication, consider it my last
My lips stained from the wine and my sin
I have nothing left to plead for
Except please let me rest
 
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Mari

Mari

Left forum, time's up
May 10, 2018
169
I read it with my second morning cigarette. And got grateful for knowing someone else has been where I am. Thank you for the poetry.
 
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L

Livide Lamb

Member
Apr 17, 2018
24
Thanks for sharing this poem with us, I found it pretty good. Is it a hobby of yours to write poem ?
 
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You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Member
Apr 17, 2018
34
I read it with my second morning cigarette. And got grateful for knowing someone else has been where I am. Thank you for the poetry.
And thank you too. Maybe I’ll add something about that in there, instead of “before noon” maybe you can be the inspiration for “before my second cigarette”.
 
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You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Member
Apr 17, 2018
34
Thanks for sharing this poem with us, I found it pretty good. Is it a hobby of yours to write poem ?
I love writing poetry actually. I have a lot of it but I never share it but anonymity makes it easier to I suppose. Oh, and thank you. :)
 
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Mari

Mari

Left forum, time's up
May 10, 2018
169
And thank you too. Maybe I’ll add something about that in there, instead of “before noon” maybe you can be the inspiration for “before my second cigarette”.

All yours, I could see that working.
Having read the poem again, it gets even better actually. Really nice work.
 
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You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Member
Apr 17, 2018
34
All yours, I could see that working.
Having read it again, it gets even better actually. Really nice work.
I appreciate it! Maybe I’ll add more poetry onto this thread (or a new one? I’m still getting the hang of this site). It feels nice to purge my private words somewhere. And who knows who will be more inspiration for some creative edits I could make to them.
 
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Mari

Mari

Left forum, time's up
May 10, 2018
169
Please do. Actually it made my morning/early noon and had me look into poetry overall. Ended up watching ‘Sylvia’ that day.
 
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You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Member
Apr 17, 2018
34
Please do. Actually it made my morning/early noon and had me look into poetry overall. Ended up watching ‘Sylvia’ that day.
What is Sylvia? Referring to Plath?
 
You Can Call Me Al

You Can Call Me Al

Member
Apr 17, 2018
34
Please do.

Something I wrote about apathy...

Bleak Arrangement

She'll come like a fog in the night, consuming your guise
Reeking like a sweet acid to dissolve the metaphors you won't forgive
And slowly you'll surrender, watching her shred the last of your fever
Then so inviting, dressed like ambrosia
She'll hand you sleep and you'll drink it
Forgetting not to gasp like it's the last thing to sustain you
Drenching the depth of your fire

She told you her name is Safety, but don't be fooled,
She really means Apathy
Lucid she waits, painting herself in your walls
An arrangement with silence
You no longer pine for your own heart throb
Dully noticing it's too late to realize,
There's not a worse color than emptiness
Carving out the places pain could reside

Such a promise that you'll never be lonely again
Sealed with a kiss was her reminder that it only hurts for a breath
Just pit yourself of the possibilities of loss
And watch as she devours and empties the rest
Letting dust gather on the memories that went wrong
Bleakly settling in your remains, a bitter existence
Who leaves no room to even remember the name of Regret
So you can miss the pieces that she lost
 
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