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@sullensouls
He was meant to love her to the moon and back but somehow he got lost in the galaxies and fell in love with the stars in someone else's eyes.
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Flipping through the pages of my tattered poetry notebook, silently hating myself because all i ever wanted was to be a poem, not a poet.
with a hundred hows you stared at the wall for hours 'til it looked away
quandary, j.g.
uncertainty doesn't have a place here, love. it never leaves a good taste in my tongue no matter how pretty you make it sound just by making it spill out of your mouth but i know i'd let it linger even just for a little while a few more seconds a few more minutes a few more months until maybe i choose to live with it though i admit i should've taken it as a sign when i started getting the habit of biting the insides of my cheek just for fun.
uncertainty didn't taste better with a tinge of blood;
but certainly, i didn't mind certainly, i won't ever mind.
smoke signals
there goes the echoes of a gunshot, a whistle, a shout from somewhere in the woods, permeating all throughout; maybe these tranquil-colored walls resemble the wilderness but the only spaces where uncertainty lingers are in the hollow of my eyes and the tip of my fingers; bloodshot and unsteady— this is how I'll begin three puffs of smoke, do you see through the screen?
(I don’t know how to ask for help. I’m sorry.)
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how did you become the pain and the painkiller all at the same time?
lovesick, j.g.
sing me to sleep, kiss me goodnight; please do not weep, i'll be gone tonight just a kiss, just a lullaby– i’ll take with me as i say goodbye
goodnight, j.g.
i have been spending too much time inside my head; now i'm losing it.
insane, j.g.
a blade was clutched in her shaking hand; and after just one swing, oh god she's addicted again.
relapse, j.g.
everyone else is curled up in their cozy beds, sleeping soundly under the comfort of warm blankets, letting the night fade away as they leap into their dreams. but love, who thinks about those few, who are also curled up in their beds– wishing they were asleep, too? who thinks about us, who are waging wars against ourselves as soon as the clock strikes past twelve? who thinks about our lonely three ams, our tear-drenched pillows, and the splattered blood on our bathroom floor? who thinks about those sleepless, bloodshot eyes that long to close forever? no one. not even one. so we lie in our beds, wide-eyed. waiting for a text message to appear, waiting for someone to care; wishing that the moon hears our silent plea, and hoping that the stars would take us into our dreams before the nightmares visit when the time for sweet slumber is gone.
insomniacs, j.g.
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one, two-- the words i say aren't true three, four-- can i bleed some more? five, six-- tears roll down my cheeks seven, eight-- what a sad fate nine, ten-- i feel dead again
the sad kids have learned to rhyme, j.g.
this little girl lies in her bed wishing she can close her eyes and sleep like the dead but the thoughts that lurk in her head keep her awake so instead, she lies in her bed wishing she was dead
let me sleep, j.g.
my head is an ocean, and i'm asphyxiating; my thoughts-- the constant wave, i'm drowning, drowning, can't be saved.
cause of death, j.g.
but who would have thought that pain could be so sweet when felt for the last time?
I know the end, j.g.