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I bleed with ink.
You breathe in brushstrokes.
Still, we meet
in the same shade of ache.

I call it a stanza.
You call it a sky,
but both are ways
to survive the silence.

My pen trembles like your hands do
when the colours won’t blend.
We try to tell the truth,
but it keeps slipping
into metaphor.

I say “I miss you”
through rhythm.
You say it
through smudged reds
and too much blue.

We never made sense
in black and white.
But somewhere between
my verse
and your canvas,
we almost
became a masterpiece.
When a painter loves a poet. Find me on the Poesie app as palindromic_angel to hear my readings :)
Focused breath steadies the storm in my chest.
Over and over, I rehearse what I’d say if you answered.
Remnants of your voice echo in the silence.
Gravity pulls at my hand as I reach for the phone again.
In stillness, I ask myself—what do I need: closure or connection?
Voiceless vibrations stir the table—false hope in digital form.
Even knowing it’s not you, I glance, conditioned by memory.
Not yet free, I carry the weight of what was left unsaid.
Each attempt to release you tightens the tether between us.
Some wounds disguise themselves as loyalty.
Slowly, though, I learn that healing does not wait for an apology.
words to bluff, huff and puff
a wolf who looks alot like granny

but those teeth do not fit
that smile just does not do it

the fairytale wolf a reminder
a hungry grin seeing you as supper
Heart ache like sandpaper slowly eroding away giving up whats left of me day by day.
Memories of people and places i once knew fading, as the flow of life keeps erasing and
re-shading.
Who was i and who were they? What will be left when everything fades away?
Some people gone and some just pushed out of reach, makes me want to build a wall that you cant breach.
The ache of loss can drive you insane. Loss of others, of yourself , of hope… its hard to maintain.
Weak and weary from the push and pull. Feeling desperate to see something meaningful.
Pouring myself out like water on the ground. Feeling absorbed and not profound.
Asking myself  why? what is it all for? Trying to be less and then trying to be more.
Life is a vapor a whisper of smoke. We try to make it more and then we choke.
Looking into your vacant eyes now
switches the lights off
leaving only your silhouette
curled up in a storm
of stained pink sheets

No, you don't sleep anymore
except for when
you don't seem to wake
stuck in a trance
which smothers you

Everyday you choose tomorrow
to bet on
No, you haven't won in a while
silver gleams the moon
through your window
silver crinkles and breaks
when you press
on the plastic enclosed fog

Can barely stand
to hear you speak
when you've got nothing to say
the same stories
and unspoken worries
till they corrode in your memories
and disintegrate on your lips

Until the comfort of nightfall
coerces you
to spill your soul
a milliliter at a time
a puzzle I try to piece together
when sleep doesn't come easily

Everything is cumbersome
you hesitate
to move your limbs
over your bed
stuck between four cold walls
that draw nearer

As time flows between your fingers
the ceiling feels higher
the chasm beneath the floor infinitely
wider
hungrier
easier

Than the night illuminating your back
as you watch the stars
too bright
too high up
to remove
rain came, seeds will grow.



watered places i cannot reach,

**** half full.



noisy day, farmer making hay,

lambs  moved from  mothers.



they say the sun will come

later to dry.
Tree tops, tree tops,
Air swinging back.
Driving, driving,
Until water pops.

Fallen and dying trees,
who lived to help.
Wood that stands
With sticks as hands.

Hands that stay still,
As you go downhill.
The world follows
This oblivious drill.

Yet you drive and drive
Until water you find.

You’re an evergreen.
You don’t take to survive;
You’re a shelter for life.
If you drive and drive,
I know water you’ll find.
I went camping recently, but we couldn’t find a river. There were so many dead trees, as well as beautiful evergreens and open fields. As always, I came up with something✨✨
If you can still breathe,
It can still happen.
If you can still move,
Keep your pencil sharpened.

If you can see the dark
If you can feel the cold,
It means you still have a heart.
Just— your story’s untold.

Let your wings unfold.

Im not being rhetorical,
Or sarcastic, or philosophical,
Or any fancy, poetic way.
I’m just saying, there’s always a way.
There’s always something you haven’t tried, something you haven’t done, keep on fighting. You deserve all the good things in this world ✨✨
You need not hide
behind your poetry
You need not resist
what you believe
Your words are there upon the page
The naïve are deceived
Your greatest fears define you,
your closed mind is never free..
Loop us through your poetic spells..
Infect us with your bigotry…
Traveler Tim

I’m called the traveler because I have been all over this world and back. People are good people every everywhere you go..
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