Hey there! Never thought I’d be here in my use of Reddit but on such a chill day I couldn’t help but flow. Here’s a free-verse poem I just came up with. I’d love to hear some feedback of what you guys think.

Such is the dichotomy of life. Of how we dream to be forever naive and to stew in the bliss of earth stained petrichor.

The smell of the air and the chirping of the birds brings such peace and joy at a happy temperature. To reignite one’s hope ands and dreams how we wish to be forever naive.

Alas in this waking world that’s not to be. So impure and cruel. How we wish we could be forever naive alas it shall not be so.

Though we dream and aspire to do much and grow in this waking world we are crushed to be. Pigeonholed and contrived. Filled with strife and no chance to abscond. We are no more free than what we ever dreamed to be.

Once United and commingling now forever divided.

Oh how we dreamed to be forever naive.

I have no doubt that, in another dimension,
in the imagination of a parallel universe,
we are together in a small, beautiful white house,
with a tiny pretty café up front,
where I kiss your cheeks while you place croissants on a tray, back door.

There, you always feel confident wearing short sleeves,
often meeting my eyes on a quiet glimpse,
or perhaps revealing me your naughtiest dreams.
It is the perfect agreement:
to live without shame.

That is where I imagine myself
in that beautiful little town,
perfectly flat,
entirely rustic,
and endlessly kind
every time we go for a walk.
There, everything is perfect,
and everything is good
Because you walk with me.

And that is what is so noble about imaginative thoughts.
If I cannot share a life with you in this one,
And I cant assure I will in the next.

Somewhere, in another dimension,
Of a parallel universe
there is a chance.
There is a way.

Where we loved each other,
in exactly the same place.

Dark clouds,
heavy with rain, knew
that once they let it fall,
they would no longer exist.

My heart, too,
living within your memories, knew
that in the very next second,
if those sweet memories faded,
there would be
no trace of me left.

Music sparks that part of you

The spice I adore

In the bedroom

On the couch

Always wanting more

A whisper in my ear

A symphony for only us to hear

I miss shit.
They tell me
it's attention deficit.
I just think
I miss shit.
It's like there's
a part of my brain
that arrives late
for nearly everything:
"Oh, that was joy."
Great!
Missed that moment.
When I
fail to remember
someone's name
I hesitate
and extricate
myself
by just saying "Hi"
and try
to obviate
the obvious.
I wouldn’t say
there's something to blame
or even that I'm oblivious
I just miss shit.

Roads covered in white,
still rivers and frozen lakes,
the soft-crackling flames—
slowly fizzling out,
shivers come,
yet met with numbness.

As the night arrives,
covering the world with darkness,
snow falls with a pristine white hue,
burying every trace of warmth.

The soft crunch of the snow below,
now louder than it seems.
The streets once filled,
now none remains.
A quiet winter, once again.

Another thought down the drain
Another second of wasted time
Another path I can’t obtain
Another life filled with stains.

I look in the mirror
I ask myself
Who is this man
And what has he felt?

A lonely world crosses his mind
One of deserts and endless time
He stands alone amongst the sand
Regretting his decisions again.

As a door slowly opens
He walks over and closes
The next step he could’ve made
Because he is nothing except afraid.

Addiction isnt a choice

Addiction is a choice

Addiction was a choice

Addiction has a voice

"

Me -

"I don't have a voice...

I try to use it but addiction shrinks me down

Down into a hole Im surprised to be 

standing in when the shovel is in my own hand;

Then I continue to dig as though there is a way out;

Addiction like insanity

Repeating mistakes expecting a different reality;

Shrinks asks me; 

"What gets me down?"

My anxiety is a constant war that I try desperately 

not to surrender to -

The depression makes my white flag to heavy to lift

Until BPD manic panic  makes 

me get up running

Running towards victory

No one can stop me 

When I feel like me

Well the me I want to be

Alive and confident

Engaging and competent

Sharp as a whip

Too quick to keep up with

Slow down but I cant

Now Up for days and days

I cannot keep up with these brain waves

That constantly cycles spins and drains me

Down to the worst part of me

Addiction; I know youre listening, 

what do you want from me

Addiction returns -

"I am here for everything;

Love and wedding rings;

College opportunity;

Fame and friends 

And whatever agony you feed me

For example" -

Me - 

"Please I don't need examples"

Addiction - ?

"I'm talking!

For example your,

nightterrors from sexual abuse that 

happened silently in reality

The man standing in the doorway 

between you and safety;

His smile the only detail your brain didnt erase;

Remember?

s

So loud and violently you scream when 

He comes near you; 

Reminds us when you do;

Awake how you sweat and shake that youd

Take anything to forget; I helped you survive

The trenches of your mental ballistics; 

I gave you the weapon needed to fight back 

against this shattered temple you hide in; 

I AM your sanctuary.

Me - 

But addiction isnt a war

Its not some competition I can win

Its crashing waves and that craves 

For me to drown in it slowly 

Slowly you ride on shallow decisions and tides;

down into the depths of a slow suicide

Addiction chimes in -

"Maybe if I drown these pills in liquor

Itll happen so much quicker; I decide

When to end this boat ride;

Well that didn't work take more then prescribed;

Like those prescriptions were yours to begin with;

Did you buy them?

Make a lie up to get them?

Steal them?

Sell yourself to get more of them?

The things you'll do to keep me fed child"

Me:

Can I ask you something Addiction

What did you do to the person I used to be?

Why did I ever choose to let you stop becoming choice

You then steal my voice

You stole my skin

You used them bargained; and begged to put more poison in

You not a self induced obsession

You are a self reduced possession

You only possessed those in agony

The damaged and the broken

You are snake oil salesman that sells only beautiful lies in exchange of ugly realities

A lie only grows

It does not know when to stop

But I do have a choice to stop

Right?

Its my voice?

Its my choice?

Right?

I can hear addiction though.. 

Cant you?

Its saying I believe… 

Addiction - "It never was, if it was - I… would never exist. I would not still be here.

No one wants this; but I sure want you.

Even when you are clean for years; I will still whisper toxins into your ears."

Me - You maybe right; but maybe…

I have a choice rather or not I isten to you

I know I have a choice

I know I have a choice…

I have a choice to not self destruct everytime you whisper in my skull

Addiction-

Self destructive?

Im not here to destroy you

Im here to change your perspective

Cause the one you got is more busted then me

Your not self destructing…

Change perspective

Your self medicating, aiding your brain to be a better you

You’re not relapsing

Your relaxing

Your rehashing nostalgic haze into glory days baby,

This isnt a Relapse

Change your view this is a Reincarnation 

You are revitalizing yourself to being happy,

For once.

Your not slowly dying from my pleasuring poison,

Youre not committing a creeping tedious suicide,

No you’re taking your time from your hourglass and making it into good time confetti,

Who needs to live when all you do is Survive?”

When all you you are is a morsel swallowed by the seas of panic

Even your dreams make reality look like a fantasy, 

Cause you’re broken bitter brain hides its tragedy so deep

That only nightmares no where to find them,

I’m your friend

Im your reason to live

Im your dopamine and serotonin 

I am your rope to pull you out this hole in your heart.

Boy are you still listening?

Me:

You are not a rope, you are noose,

And I will no longer let you speak,

For when you do, I choke on my… 

My own Voice.

I have a voice

I have a choice

I have a voice

I have a choice…

Addiction:

“Do you?”

It’s awkward.

This dance we’re doing.

We keep stepping on each other’s toes.

You turn left.

I turn right.

You say this far in, we won’t find our footing.

But that’s the thing about dancing.

Some times you just need a different song.

And then we’ll find our groove.

And slowly but surely we’ll find our footing.

So let’s just awkwardly dance.

We’ll see if the song changes soon.

I’m not ready to give you up as a dance partner.

We don’t need to hold each other tight.

We can just lightly hold each other’s hands.

And gently sway with the music.

At least for a little while longer can’t we?

And see what song plays next…..

Lost connections and broken erections

this is the state of the modern times

another breaking story phrased in an overacted whine.

The grapes of wrath died on the vine

Groggy and tired but sleep is never desired.

This is my modern condition composted with bleak premonition.

There is no competition when you always lose

especially when you have no right to choose

Free will is a construct they say

but then why did they go and take it away?

I can yell from the mountain tops

but they sold it for a data center and truck stops

The air grows thicker by the day.

There's nothing I can do to choke this all away

plastic in my blood

social media a negative flood

remember the good old days

all forgotten in a self-medicated haze.

Waiting for the change to come

I am not the renegade to bring some

narcissistic neurodivergent

it's in the water. It's in our detergent.

There's no washing away these crimes.

So we'll just have to watch the world rot away in these times

but hey, at least I can sit in a comfortable chair

as my eyes burn away in the dirty air

Drips of deceit always taste the most sweet when they are sipped by the mouth of a lamb.

Innocent, small, and ignorant to the fact that the hand who feeds it is a wolf dressed as a man.

Thoughtfully made up in his Sunday best, the wolf disguises himself to blend in with the rest.

He harvests the trust and the glory all around him.

He forms a pack with his new brethren as they begin to surround him.

Not just any promise, but one sealed without words.

Fueled by a joint unspoken, want to disgrace the lambs without being heard.

Generations were bred as these traditions continued. The lambs grew tired and their views became windowed.

This molded some into wolves, and many became objects, but a few resilient lambs discovered their own magick.

The lambs grew older and their wool became stained black.

They transformed into something, born to swallow that pack.

Burning hot dread and broken morals spewed from their mouth, covering the now trembling wolves as their fur began to melt.

Left in the dust, the wolves were now only vermin.

A dull energy, so baneful, no creature could deserve it.

Inside, the sheep were still sheep, but now lost without a shepherd.

The damage on their souls had been done, and there was no way to fully recover.

They would never get the justice they truly deserved.

So they used what life they had left, so innocence of future lambs might be preserved.

I spent a good deal of my life,

Bathing alone in the sunlight,

Staying nourished as I can,

Finding company with my brethren.

They are my many friends,

Having already bloomed into beauty,

Displaying their finest petals,

Full of life and color.

I look at them together,

Happily holding leaves,

Even after having just met,

Standing tall by each other.

I haven't quite bloomed yet,

Waiting for that right moment,

Getting to know them first,

As if they were my best friend.

I don't care how others look,

Doesn't matter what color or size,

No matter how perfect they are,

I want to know them inside out.

My best friend by me is special,

Even with its torn leaves or petals,

Sometimes drooping downwards,

Yet I see such defining beauty.

Slowly yet surely,

Something beautiful happened inside,

I finally started to bloom,

Revealing petals I never knew I had.

It was a magnificent sight,

After all this time,

My feelings are now out in the open,

Holding dear to my best friend.

Through each day since then,

Bathing together in the sunlight,

Staying nourished as we can,

Finding company with my true love.

That's when I learned a secret,

One I never knew myself till now,

How I've been living,

My life as a demiflower.

I dreamt of you last night.
Losing you torments me.

I’m in the Mariana Trench of the ocean of my sorrows.
I’m swallowed by the pressure.

One question remains:

Do I search for the light that I may never find… or do I simply surrender to the darkness?

THE RUN

my feet were cracked and dry for I've run for a while,

hollow dreams broke with each step i took in the aisle.

drops of water fell even from the emptiest well,

circled back to my friend i left, my oldest hell.

heart stitched tight, even my blood was coloured matt,

iron will felt light as i was left stuck with a rat.

mind slowly wrecks in iteration void of success

even slight taste of grace starts to mean less.

covered in the bright rays of fiction with a tiny hole,

ran towards it now I'm in all dark, full of abandoned goal.

i wished to kill him who made me want to die this young,

oh! it was me the one from whom i was running all along.

Time is a thief
It stole my newborn
And replaced him
With another baby
Bigger, stronger, full of new skills
Time gave him a voice
And stole his youth

The thief always comes again
To steal and replace his face,
Leaving me with glimpses of a much older boy
But mine is still small
His arms are not bigger than his head
But his body is twice the size
Of my stolen newborn

Time has stolen sleep too
And simple joys
And freedom
But it replaces those with something sweeter
Purpose
And love
And a deeper kind of joy
I would trade all my sleep
And joy
And freedom
For one more smile
From my very big tiny boy
Or one more snuggle
From my stolen newborn

How strange it is
To mourn what is stolen
And excite in what was exchanged
To think of my boy as older
When he is still so young
Only older than his past self

Time will still continue to come
And steal many things
It will take his clothes
And replace them with smaller versions
That no longer fit
It will steal his hair
That I grew
And leave room for him to grow his own
Hair that has only known life outside of me
Hair that I do not own

It will steal his babbles
And replace them with words
It will steal him from my arms
And make him walk on the floor
It will steal him from my room
And give him his own
It will steal him from my breast
And give him teeth to eat
Food that I do not produce

How strange it is
To yearn for everything time will bring
While mourning everyone it steals
To hope that he grows
And cry that he is bigger
To crave independence
And grieve that he has found his
To celebrate each birthday
But try to cling to each passing day

I feel your breath
still
though you are gone
I see your light
still
where once it shone
I hear your voice
still
it’s crystal clear
I hold your heart
still
forever dear

The porch still smells like crown cigarettes.

The cheapest ones at the gas station, somehow still five dollars a pack.

The notes of tobacco and processed chemical that clings to my clothes,
Dug deep into the worn out rocker that's looked lonelier every time I come back.

I feel a cough build in my throat as I sit, The same one I used to do to try and shame my grandfather into quitting.

Long before I picked up the habit myself.

The dog house is gone.

No surprise, the dog's been gone since I was fifteen,
I guess I just got used to it being there, His collar that we hung up in its doorframe like he'd come back someday.

The American flag that hung over the garage door remains,

In washed tatters now,

He always told me that a flag in that condition gets burned,
Cut into pieces and lit.

It feels wrong to touch it now.

The front door has fallen from its hinges,
Propped against the outer wall.

The screen's a scraggly mess that threatens to cut my fingers if I get too close.

It's gone.

He’s gone.

The windows cracked and broke from rocks heaved through them.

Bird nests have taken sanctuary in the cracks and crevices.

The porch still smells like crown cigarettes.

it’s that hour when time stops existing
when moonlight seeps through arched windows
onto the faces and arms of boys
who know that when James Dean said,
“You’re tearing me apart,”
it meant something but not quite sure what
who can talk about the nuances of tween sadness
and earnestly whisper “i miss you”
“i miss walking to C.E.P. with you”
“i miss how you would make me laugh”
i miss suckling on your arm while
waiting for mom to pick me up
i miss the smell of coconut in your hair
when you stood just close enough

a night just like all the others
staring at the ceiling with headphones on
reading comics
dreaming i could say those things to you
i wish i could buy you a motorbike for your birthday
so you could come by
and take me away from all this
to some place
like Guadalajara or Phnom Penh
or some other place i couldn’t imagine
where the impossible is possible
and i could be soft with you

a fold in the comforter
feels like a ten foot wall
your breath is so peaceful
looking out at the moon
hoping, praying
dear God please I’ll do anything
I’ll go to church every sunday and never sin again
if you’d just let Logan Nelson roll over and graze my arm.

Who would've guessed forever

would begin beneath fluorescent lights,

with a chance hello at a gas station

on an ordinary day.

We traded smiles between shifts,

shared quiet moments and tired laughter,

until those simple days

became the story of us.

You turned routine into adventure,

and a workplace into the place

where I found my best friend,

my greatest love.

Now every mile we've traveled

has led us here—

from that first meeting at the pumps

to promises we'll make for a lifetime.

Sometimes soulmates don't meet in grand places.

Sometimes they meet at a gas station...

and never stop choosing each other.

​

​What do you see in the eye of a poet?

​In the eye of a poet, I see the suffering.

I see the sorrow resting in their eyes,

The mourning of an unspeakable cry,

The silent scream no ear will ever hear.

​I see the fleeting years of joy they celebrated,

The precious moments cherished,

The memories buried, yet destined never to fade.

I see the springs where love was blooming,

Beside the steady beat of disappointment and failure.

​I see the depth of a prayer, whispered in quiet worship,

The soft song murmured, yet never dared to be sung.

The sketches scribbled, locked deep within a briefcase,

And the home dreamed of, but never built.

The endless desires that remain but haunting dreams.

​But have you looked into the poet’s eyes closely?

Have you read them?

No, you haven’t—go read their poetry.

​Have you heard them?

No... do they speak?

Yes, they speak through their ink.

​Where would you find the eye of a poet?

In their creations.

Do they paint?

No, they write. Have you seen them?

Yes.

They speak—have you heard them?

Yes.

They sing—have you ever felt them?

Yes, they weep, and they dance.

​The rhythm, you mean?

No... the composition, I meant.

​— Pt. Shree Harshit Sharma (Buddy)

I hate how easy it is,

To get hurt by her nothing.

I never expected anything,

But I still hurt like everything.

Why do I dig myself a little deeper?

Why do I choose to get hurt?

Why is it that when it comes down,

To the choices I make,

It's impossible to decide,

And do the right thing?

I scoff with disdain,

On pathetic souls who flail,

But now I see it looks that way,

Since I'm worse anyway.

So easy to forget the truth,

And delude myself in every breath.

And when reality comes crashing back,

I still blame her and me,

Though I'm the only one at fault.

I hate how I wait for a reply.

I hate how pathetic I sound.

I hate how pathetic I've become.

I hate how we never change.

I dream and dread of the day,

Where I can finally walk away.

How happy would I be then,

How heartbroken to say goodbye?

I hate how easy it is,

To fall back into old ways.

To try again like a madman,

And feel sorrow once more.

I suppose it's safe to say,

That I'll self destruct someday.

Would I finally open my eyes,

And live to be free?

Or will I come back again?

To feel hurt once more.

They robbed the damn charity again.

They robbed the bank.
The school
The restaurant
The hospital
The dry cleaners
The drug store
The corner store
The store store
They robbing everybody

Hey, my charities, don’t feel targeted, singled out and isolated, they are robbing churches too.

I’m so close to thirty 

When I assumed I’d die young

What am I meant to do now, that I outlived my fears

The feelings I had clouded my life

Kept me assuming there was a close end in sight

But years got added

They stacked up fast 

I look back and wonder

Why I just knew

That I wouldn’t make it long

Was that the shade of my mental or some outside force 

Neither are relevant, for they’ve both failed 

I see the appeal

In sticking around

There are now things I plan

For I want more to see

I like trying new things

Letting myself learn to experience

Why would I look back 

At a pile of lies

When I can turn forward 

To see a path illuminating my way

Clear of the fog of my worst ideations

Isn't Hope beautiful

We do think we are worthy.

But sometimes, we ourselves are not sure.

You may find us weeping.

Is it because we are lonely,

Or is it because, our cry wasn't as loud as possible,

That it ends up being too quiet?

But still we hope, through passing dawn and dusk,

That the hope of holding your arms may come to fruition.

Even that speck of hope of a beautiful tomorrow

Is enough to give us life for one more day.