Web of Loneliness Poems

Poems of the Lonely

A Hurt Heart

Bills bills bills…
that I cannot pay.
I have no car,
and my heart hurts all day.
a heartache so strong.
a love long gone…
my tears stream like rain-
and my heart hurts all day.
my dear best friend-
my dear lost love.
“HE HAS FORSAKEN ME!”
as I cry to the above.
Bills bills bills…
that I cannot pay.
I have no car,
and my heart hurts all day.
AJW
8.5.15
Advertisements

Untitled by Ary

Failure is not fatal.
Hell if I knew;
It’s like cutting open a tortilla pack,
slipping with the knife on the final hurdle,
and then learning that the tortillas were mouldy…
and then your new lover learning that you eat plain tortillas on their own.
Yeah.
It’s another level of disappointment.
Sure, it’s not fatal, but, oh God, the pain.
The pain.
It’s brutal, malevolent and leaves a red-alert, not-so-paper trail.
Withdrawing from the whole thing takes a lot, because in my situation, you would’ve just started a healthy diet,
leaving that gaping abyss some place between your lungs, like a sink-hole,
you don’t even know where you’re putting it.
You would’ve texted the girl you like, saying something embarrassing.
You would’ve left your last lifeline behind, like a bad episode of ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire?’,
and now you’re left with nothing, stubbornly exclaiming how you’ve won, you’ve beat the system,
you had damn good reason and feeling truly alone.
You’ll hate your life,
have a damn painful finger,
and scared you’re gonna live your whole life alone, full of regret.
I hate this feeling. It’s like being cheated on by God himself.
You haven’t a single friend in the world and you’re pretending that it’s all fine,
but the abyss doesn’t even want to make eye contact anymore:
he’s picked up his fucking phone.

One day, you have to decide to just fuck it.
I only know how to reverse in stick-shift, so I guess I’m going forward.
I’m not afraid… maybe a little. I’m about to hit a junction. Big one, too.
Biting point, anxiety, blah blah. Just push the pedal, slam down the accelerator,
because, as a wise man once said, ‘gotta go fast’.
Another one also said:
“Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be.”

Cenel’s Island

there’s a pretty twist in my bed
humming implements of incredible sex.
it’s the one that sends the waves to drown dancing tongues
to serenade the song of chemistry we composed.
and it kills the negative things.
it can kill anything, but not this wonderful being.
i stare at demise
tender and blind
experiencing life in the abstracts of your kind.
kicking death and trying to remember you’re under my wing.

so what’s behind this new face with dim eyes?
it’s beautiful.
I’ve arrived at an island for a ghost.
does the stimulation make your floral float
and eliminate the emptiness you felt once I shook your ship?
does it make your carrier swing?
can it make the aquarious sing?
I’m gonna try to taste it…

Sweet Words

May the sweetness of my words
Bring healing to your soul
May everything I do and say
Bless and make you whole

May the flowing of my words
Enrich your heart and mind
May everything I do and say
Be gentle loving and kind

May the power of my words
Bring rich and lasting treasure
May everything I do and say
Be yours in abundant measure

May the spirit of my words
Bring hope to have and hold
May everything I do and say
Bring healings that enfold

So if you hear my words today
If you are sad and blue
Know for sure this little poem
Is from my heart to you
by Carmelia WOL

Marta Complex

is this way too soon?
all these movements look desperate for a reply,
all this blood left with the questions to figure out what happened and why…
I’ve been playing restart to unearth this naked eye
coming up with only conclusions to end this low pride.
I’ve been told to go kill myself for the last time
I understand the consequence if I let this fin.
first of all, it’s my decision to disagree with you.

I’ve lost taste to touch
no lust for anything
I wish I didn’t know you at all
but now that I do, it ruins everything.
money is made out of women skin
I’ve tried my best to be a good friend.
It seems I’m too depressed
I may never have success with that
so I’m digging out my own grave
counting down to zero
because I don’t even know why I stick around
I don’t know why I shared my bed.

-I.R.