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 Aug 2020 Sam
Ky
Creation
 Aug 2020 Sam
Ky
Between the lines
of now and then,
you’re drawing me
with ink and pen.
Every ridge
and every curve
you’re carving out
what I deserve.
Tangled veins
and knotted hair,
a thunderstorm
of senseless care.
Between the breaths
of God and man-
You’re writing me
just as I am.
With fractured bones
and black-hole eyes,
painted purple,
ringed with lies.
All I am
is what you see
and what you make
is all I’ll be.
 Jun 2020 Sam
Chris
~~~☆

Tonight I sent a poem
streaking 'cross the evening sky
Sprinkled it with stardust
so it'd glisten flying by

Wishing you would see it
when you look up where you are
To find the words "I love you"
written on a falling star
Good night beautiful
I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
 May 2020 Sam
Nicole
Changes
 May 2020 Sam
Nicole
Love got lost
In the sea of sorrow
And hopes were crushed
Like there's no tomorrow

Everything changed
That one midnight of summer
When I confessed my undying love
But you replied with "I love her."
 May 2020 Sam
Thomas W Case
There she is:
naked and fickle on
the floor, *******
marrow out of
soup bones; her
*******
busy with
living things.

The muse plays
hide
and seek
like a spoiled
little child, as I s
sit with
sterile white
paper.
I think I see
her from the
corner
of my
eye, but when
I look,
she is gone, like
the last Dodo bird.
I yell, "Are you dead? "
NOTHING.
And then she
appears
dimly through
the glass and
gives
me a hard one,
fierce, right behind
the eyes,
in that still small
place where sullen
shadows
dance to Wagner, while
sparrows burn and
smell of
Spider Mums, and
funerals.

Then, she's gone like
the Cheshire cat.
(the grin remains.)
I get another
drink, hoping to
swallow and consume
her- to become one.
It doesn't work.
I get
frustrated, pace the
worn out
carpet, like a
caged tiger

Writer's block is
hell.
It's worse than
celibacy and
bologna.
Far worse than
constipation, or not
being able to ***.
It's like missing
the vein, or
dying of thirst in the desert.
It's like being
dead, but alive.

And
finally at
last
it's over (she consummates the deal)
and the words and
lines flow like
rain in Seattle in
the springtime.
I can
see the ***** in
the rose.
Taste
the sweet potato sky,
plant flowers in concrete, and
beat Mr. Death in
a game of go fish.
And
strangely,
it all smells like
home,
eternity,
and two-week old
puppies dreaming of
Mother's milk.
This is one of my better ones on writer's block
 May 2020 Sam
Luna Maria
I secretly hope
my pillow still smells
like you

(it doesn't)
can you hold me at night
 May 2020 Sam
Luna Maria
you stopped loving me

so I also

stopped loving

myself.
the things you used to love about me suddenly turned into the things I hated about myself.
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