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#poem about sadness
hrokkall · 4 months
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"Sad Cat Poem" by Spencer Madsen
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writersbeware · 7 months
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               Despair
Crispy, crunchy bits on the floor Remnants of what was once me Speak in sequestered voice Whispers for none to hear Memories masked in flimsy gauze Distort into moaning miseries Slices of soul oozing through my eyes Trek along determined trails Hollowness hails each morning Darkness so deep that no light gleams Heaviness haunts my limbs Paralyzes rational thought No hope, no…
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nokia7600 · 5 months
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My cat is sad.
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onawhimsicot · 1 year
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i know not many people would want to read a 10,000 word article about the minecraft end poem and how the author, Julian Gough, was never fairly compensated for his work and has made it public domain.
But it's a very well-written and heartfelt read, and he makes it very clear that none of this is a cash-grab and despite the fact that he is essentially a starving artist in this capitalist society, he only mentions his financial struggles despite Minecraft's huge huge success at the bottom of this article and not in the tweets so as to not dilute his message.
Anyway, I just think it'd be cool if those who are able to could support him in some way whether it be subscribing to his substack or donating to his paypal (that's linked in the article, you can ctrl + F to find it easier), that's all.
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elysianymph · 1 year
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james is very fascinated by muggle cameras. lily and regulus notice this of course and lily pitches an idea: to get james a camera for his birthday. they save up the money they need for a higher quality camera and wrap it up in a fancy box and present it to him on his birthday. the smile james gives them is worth every penny they spent.
they expected the obsession that came after. james took his camera everywhere, always taking pictures, not just of the the scenery or himself, but of his friends and family and most importantly of lily and regulus. what they didn't expect was that james had all of their photos printed and compiled them into an album, decorated it and drew little hearts and stars and flowers on it and wrote down little notes of what had happened the day the photos were taken. he revealed this album to them on their anniversary as a shared gift.
some of the many pictures james has taken of his lovers:
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poemsonmars · 4 months
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you told me that daisies
are your favorite flower
and i had to fight the urge
to plant a bouquet
of them in my lungs.
i want to cough up
petals and stems
when you smile at me.
i want to be so full of
your favorite things
that i forget how to breathe.
-mars
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lotrmusical · 2 years
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a. e. housman, from 'hell gate'
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coffeexxcigarettes · 1 month
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Flambe
-
Go on and worship me.
I'll let the flames
Ignite and swallow me whole.
I'll burn from the inside,
With a smile,
Watch me take control.
Try not to be surprised,
When you see how fast I change.
You think you know all about fire,
But I burn hotter in the rain.
x
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sentientsky · 4 months
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“Belovéd,” Yves Olade
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sadlittlepoet · 6 months
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Maybe one day I'll be able to breathe again
Maybe one day this won't hurt
Maybe one day I'll stop destroying myself for scraps of your attention
Maybe one day I'll love someone else the way I love you
I doubt it
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i-wish-we-never-met · 2 years
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I wish the thoughts of you will just leave me as easy as the way you walk away
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writersbeware · 10 months
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The Shell
Walking along the beach, I found a shell. an ordinary shell it is perfectly formed six rows of ridges ruffles completely round except for where it joined its twin when still whole the shell feels surprisingly cool and light as if it’s soul’s mate disappeared long ago as I stare out at the Pacific Ocean I wonder where this clam might have lived and how it got to this spot on this…
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captain-k8kat · 4 months
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You cannot convince me that diluc doesn't write poetry, or at least keeps a diary. He is so dramatic, have you heard how this man talks? He's a poet in private and it's a secret he'll (try to) keep to his grave.
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o-xytocin · 2 years
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how empty of me to be so full of you
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daisievalentine · 3 months
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poemsonmars · 9 months
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it's hard to write
when every poem starts to
feel like a suicide letter.
most days i am an
echo chamber of apologies.
i start to wonder if
there is anything else
left in me anymore.
i go to bed empty.
most nights i am
something much worse.
-mars
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