Prose

The atrocious contradiction of existence
The atrocious contradiction of existence How ironically does existence glare at our agony Drawing its muse in the hours of our ecstasy
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Love for Sale is a Misnomer
Besides a whole family home, people are lonely. Since the lockdowns from the pandemic, we haven’t been the same. The desperation for company and relationships is discernible. And the pain is real. How can we rebound? The proof is everywhere. Ads for online dating, incels looking for a connection willing to pay for a service that doesn’t exist. And yet, folks keep signing up, hoping for a miracle and being taken advantage of primarily by charlatans or bots. These days, incels talk to fake people without knowing the difference.
By Rene Volpi 2 years ago in Poets
Guilt
Guilt is a dog licking his dick behind you while you’re trying to work. It’s red wine losing its edge and cigarettes only giving you the urge to vomit. Guilt is being distracted by the world around you: the dog licking his penis, the bad wine, the cyber monday deals, and the rewards points you might get on your Amex shopping them. Guilt is denying that you believe in God despite buying tickets for Yom Kippur services in March. Guilt is giving a junkie your rent and avoiding the news when you realize you might have bankrolled his last hurrah. Guilt is thinking with your dick. Guilt is not sleeping (alone). Guilt is the privilege to lie. Guilt doesn’t go away because you write about a dog licking his dick; dogs do that every day. Guilt is the routine. Guilt is calling your mom too many times a day. Guilt is buying your girlfriend silver. Guilt tries to make you laugh. Guilt is like smoking. Guilt is the smell of dick on a dog’s breath. Guilt is pretending you’re a dog when you walk on two legs.
By Benjamin Butz-Weidner2 years ago in Poets
Regretful Blackout Aperitif. Content Warning.
Would you like to partake in this Regretful Blackout Aperitif? I am sure it will leave you with a brief belief that you are the chief of love of life, so sweet.
By Daphsam2 years ago in Poets
I'm Tired
I'm tired. I'm tired as if the marrow of my bones are recalling the last time they knew the sunlight. I'm tired, like my eyes could weep the tears of waterfalls long dried.
By Obsidian Words2 years ago in Poets
Oops side down
I don’t know what this is about It is the worst poem Without a doubt In my mind To be alone can be sublime But to feel alone
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
A Scar on My Hearts Ears
There is a scar on my heart’s ears It’s from all the years of abuse I got used to It makes it hard to hear when someone says
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Symphony of the Earth. Content Warning.
In forests deep where sunlight plays, Nature orchestrates its grand ballet. The rustle of leaves, a gentle sway, A timeless dance, night to day.
By Ashiii2 years ago in Poets
Ode to Sustenance. Content Warning.
In kitchens, where secrets hide in spices' embrace, Where pots simmer melodies of aromatic grace, There lies the heart of life's vibrant ballet,
By Ashiii2 years ago in Poets
The Pen Poem
She is my temptress My Partner In Mischief's Prison When I grab her I'm at it like a bad habit And i feel like I'm flying with high impossibilities
By Dan-O Vizzini2 years ago in Poets
Yard Work
On a shelf in my shed, there is an old, worn machete. On the handle, you can see my name, etched there in the wood by a much younger hand. Though it has seen plenty of use in its time, it’s fair to say I’ve not wielded that old cutlass much in the past twenty years. Yet, there it is on the shelf. If it serves no other purpose, it serves as a reminder.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
"Echoes of Lost Love"
In the silence of the night, I hear your name, Echoes of a lost love, lighting the flame. The stars whisper secrets, in an eternal language,
By Hendrik SancheZ2 years ago in Poets