Hello darkness It’s always darkest the hour before dawn so hello darkness, my old friend, pull up a chair.

This is the hour when silence screams louder than sirens, when shadows stretch long across the soul, when the mind replays every regret on loop.

The darkest time not the alleyway kind, not the monsters under beds, but the quiet kind, the ones that whisper in your own voice, the ones that sound like truth but lie.

These demons don’t wear faces, they wear memories. They dig claws into your thoughts, wrap chains around your chest, make breathing feel like drowning in shallow air.

They don’t leave not really but as the sky blushes with morning, they slink back into the cracks of consciousness. Still there, but quieter. Just enough that you can blink yourself awake, sip your coffee, and tell the mirror you’re fine.

But deep down, you know where they live. They linger, in the corners you avoid, in the dreams you forget, in the places you won’t let the light touch.

Because they are you, just the parts you wish weren’t.

And still, every dawn, you rise. Not because it gets better but because you won’t go quietly. Not out of hope but out of spite. Out of fury. Out of sheer, bitter refusal to let the darkness win.

So go on then pull up that chair. Hello again, my old friend.

The sky is crying

It's crying wine

I swallow it up

It tastes just fine

I raise my head

I look behind

I meet his gaze

His eyes, divine

My God, my love

My God, my pride

From his hands,

Spread up high

Seedlings drop

From the sky

Crosses sprout

Crosses thrive

Ugly, greasy

And sublime

A man, nailed

Trying to hide

His skull, cut open

His skull cut wide

On it birds feast

And he abides

His eyes are candles

Spewing dim light

He can't run

He can't hide

The sky is puking

It's puking wine

His brains scatter

They learn to fly

His brains are bread

I don't know why

I slice him once

I slice him twice

He looks at me

He softly sighs

I nod and smile

I drink more wine

How does it feel

To be crucified?

I don't care

I leave those sights

I don't ask

I know I'm right

I taste my freedom

In his eyes

The sky is bleeding

It's bleeding wine

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry_critics/s/wPfmVIZrgJ

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry_critics/s/aBiTHCQd2H

Hum a tune to put me to rest
Because it is sleep I most detest
Draw yourself near me
That my eyes may grow weary
You bring me peace of mind
And it is no where that I can find
One such as you

A faded shadow wanders towards the shore,
Where weary footsteps trace what came before,
The wind falls still beneath a paling light,
While scattered traces slowly leave the sight,
Two distant doors stand where pathways part,
One keeps the noise, One promises no start.

Between the thresholds, silence begins to weigh,
As drowned impressions soften into clay,
The farther portal bruises into gray,
While backwards earth forgets the shape of day,
The distance starves with every held delay,
And still the darkened frame will not decay,

The horizon folds closer than before,
While less remains between the hollow and shore,
The silence settles close against the floor,
While every breath is tightened at the core,
The moments lose the shape they carried before,
As time hangs mute against the waiting door,

Each footfall lands where little ground remains,
As motion stiffens underneath unseen chains,
A turning foot still falters where it strains,
The body moves while something else constrains,
The footing narrows as the balance wanes,
While hollow depth beneath the passage gains,

The narrow footing petrified to stone,
A bridge where riverless depths writhe alone,
Each measured step feels less one’s own,
While every backwards impulse is overthrown,
Ahead one looming outline has slowly grown,
Until the distant doorway reigns alone,

A rigid hand extends where endings start,
Cold fingers close around the handle’s frozen heart,
One measured turn devours the failing light,
The latch gives way beneath the weight of night,
The handle settles where it stood before,
A faded shadow wanders away from the shore.

It shouldn’t be this hard to
be the man I am.
 
I have a family that cares,
but that reminds me
 
of how I fuck everything up.
 
I’d love to get this right, but I can’t.
 
I thought I wanted it all,
but all is never enough.
 
I tried so hard to make it.
 
I met with the devil
so I could sell my soul.
 
As soon as I walked in,

he told me to leave
and I was not worth the flames.
 
I thought I could use some time alone,
but everything I hate finds its way in.
 
Now, cluster-phobia is all I have
to hold me down to earth.
 
I’m so fucked.

¿Cual creen que es mejor?

INCENDIO DE BOLSILLO.

Busco un incendio perdido

en los bolsillos de mi abrigo.

Si lo ven no alcen la voz,

pues se asusta fácilmente.

Es a la vista inofensivo

y pequeño como un ratón,

mas hay oculto en su temblor

un secreto iridiscente.

Busco un incendio perdido

entre los pliegues del reloj

creo que el granuja se escapó

al cruzar por aquel puente.

Busco, mi incendio perdido

lo necesito urgentemente,

pues a él confié el timón

de mi impaciente corazón.

VERSION 2

Busco un incendio perdido

en los bolsillos de mi abrigo.

Si lo ven no alcen la voz,

pues se asusta fácilmente.

Es a la vista inofensivo

y pequeño como un ratón,

mas hay oculto en su temblor

un secreto iridiscente.

Busco un incendio perdido

si lo ven avisenme,

se llevó el timón de mi sentido

y siento naufragar la mente.

Busco, lo busco con tesón,

lo necesito urgentemente,

pues a él confié la suerte

de mi impaciente corazón.

Little bean,

To see you floating in the sea,
surprised by how real you felt—
seeing your little shape,
but no blip.

My heart feels dull,
broken twice over.

They say I’m on my fourth,
but I’ve only done this twice.
I don’t know how to count what never became real.

Shattered.
Relieved.
Is it possible to feel both?

To feel the excitement
of what could have been,
and the dread of what it might have meant. It’s a selfish thought, so vain and worthless.

This was never a reality I was meant to live,
but somehow, I had already begun
to imagine it.

And now I’m grieving
something I barely had,
something I never got to know,
but somehow already loved.

I’ll miss you, little bean.

One is more feminine
More child like
Smiles all the time
Jumps and spins when happy
She talks very high in her head
And loves to be near people
She doesn’t have any hate towards our body
A positive nihilistic kid that loves the word

But the other one
They’re rude and egotistical
They’re more masculine and nerdy
He speaks low and monotone
And always so modest in his outfits
He’s To scared to move too much or bring attention to us
To scared to be vulnerable or grow to close to anyone around
a recluse spider that will bit if you’re to close

————————
I wasn’t actually trying to write a poem, was really just trying to write about myself in my notes app then re-read it and it kinda sounded like a poem, so I’m wounding if there is anything I can do to make it more poem like

We will sink into the earth
and go to a place
where we belong.

People will not be able to find us,
and even in anyone's dreams,
we will no longer appear.

Dear Person,

I never knew how exhausting it was

How exhausting someone's mere existence can be

Someone you just met

Someone you needed an outlet on

Your feelings had been bombarded

Your thoughts are overwhelming

Your emotions are overpowering

There's no room for other people's worries

But you need an outlet to relieve your agonies

Just when I thought I found my match

You just needed someone to have your back

Just when I thought I found my world

You just needed someone to hold your own

I'm sorry for my complaints and dissatisfaction

When I should've been your ear for listen

Should've kept my mouth shut and let you talk

Because the problems you have, will not demise

I'll sit here for your comfort, I'll even hold your hand

Until these problems are officially dealt with again.

We dont get along

Had it been from the very start 

Nuances and whispers

The thought of you

Was what I pursued

I perceive and give the rest to you

I get half and you get full

At dusk your poems subdue

Grey-looking and hardly anew

I had never really met you,

All I saw was your face glistening 

On the oceans surface

Dazzling eyes looking afar

Separate we shall be, and-

So, if the Sun calls you one last time

Remember to wave from afar

Blame is a loaded gun

Passed hand to hand

In rooms where truth

Gets smothered in sand.

It points at mirrors,

Dodges facts,

Builds up walls

Then calls them acts.

You blame your mother,

She blames her dad,

He blames the bottle

For the rage he had.

We throw it like knives,

Play victim or judge,

But no one heals

When no one budges.

Blame is a mask

For the pain we hide,

A way to bleed

Without losing pride.

Sometimes it’s earned,

Sometimes it’s not,

But holding it tight

Just leaves you to rot.

You want release?

Then call it out.

Name the wounds—

But drop the doubt.

Own what’s yours,

Let go what ain’t.

Blame won’t save you.

But truth? It just might.

SURVIVAL MODE

BY VKV

I wake, not to thrive—but to last through the day,

With breath like a whisper that won’t blow away.

Teeth clenched, mind racing, no time to explain,

Each step is a bargain I strike with the pain.

I eat just enough, I speak just in code,

Eyes scanning for exits down every road.

There’s no time for softness, no space to unfold—

My heart is on lockdown, my fire on hold.

Smiles come in flashes, then vanish like mist,

Joy feels like a rumor I once almost kissed.

People say, “You’re strong,” but don’t see the toll—

I’m not trying to flourish, just patch up the soul.

Still…

In the silence, I simmer, not shatter or fade,

There’s power in choosing what doesn’t degrade.

This isn’t my ending—it’s not even close—

Survival’s a season, not the life I chose.

So I walk through the shadow, a flicker inside,

Not winning, not losing—just staying alive.

i lost my mind in the italian heat,

now i’m scribbling down words that you’ll never read

i see god in everything, birds and clouds and trees in spring

i see god in you, with your back to me at morning’s brink 

‎

i don’t like to use the word “l*ve”, i’ve used it too many times before, back then i couldn’t grasp it and i still cannot

so i search for another diagnosis that would explain why i am a ship and you are the ocean,

why the corners of your lips are attached by strings to my insides,

and when you smile all is well,

and when you cry my guts thrash and rip through my abdominal wall and i can’t stand up again, blood, blood everywhere, mucus and bile

‎

we lay next to each other,

and we’re both drunk enough to make mistakes,

and i could be yours but you’d never be mine,

i settle for a compromise, to dream of your lips but never touch them

a friendship’s never enough, but i fear your absence too much to bet it all on a wild horse galloping towards the sunset

‎

when you’re gone i find you at the bottom of a bottle,

or inside a rolled up bill,

or in a song about a forlorn lover,

so dreadfully alienated in the company of nameless girls and shapeless friends,

who pity the scars on my skin but never reach inside them

‎

i am an unanswered prayer in an hour of need

you are cruelty disguised as negligence

i am jacked up prices for condoms in the early hours of the morn 

you are the south sudan famine, you are the cure for cancer and a flash flood that killed 46 miners, you are a volunteer firefighter and a perverted taxidermist 

‎

you shift tides and change the weather,

you change me, but not for the better

summer’s ending so i’m shedding skin

but if you call, i’m yours still

After so many days, I finally saw the moon.
She doesn't know how beautiful she looks from here.
I can only gaze at her from afar
And whisper sweet words into the night,
knowing she will never hear them.
Because somehow, she makes my night feel less dark.

​When our eyes meet,
Time stands still,
And I get lost somewhere inside.

​'Moon' is just the name we gave her,
But what is her real name?
I want to know that,
But I cannot go there—
Because she is the moon.

I’m always counting

Counting the songs that I sing

Counting the things that I do

What will happen if I don’t?

Nothing, nothing, nothing

But

What if? What if? What if?

What if you die? What if I die? What if everything goes wrong?

Except it won’t

And I know that

I know that you know that I know that

But what will happen if I don’t?

You use it as an adjective

Because it makes you feel prickly

If you don’t

But what will happen if you don’t?

How many people are going to die?

How long will you keep your fingers crossed, while playing Car Park Roulette?

How many nights will you spend hot and uncomfortable, because you don’t want to breathe their air?

I want to breathe

I want to breathe and I want it to feel like it’s good for me

I want to breathe and I want it to hurt with cold

I want to breathe and I want it to sting like a song of safety

I want the type of air that feels glacial

Like the oxygen itself is historical

Not school air that I protect myself against with the sleeve of my blazer

Not school air that matts your hair because it’s wet and there isn’t enough circulation

I have to count, because if I don’t, if I don’t, if I don’t

One time is safe, and normal, and good

Two times is an accident, but it’s safe, and normal, and good

Three times is lucky, third times a charm

Three times is Hellfire and evil and far, from the safety that comes from...

Four times, is where you stop, if you can, and if you can’t, you stop at...

Ten times, is too much, no coincidence, no luck, and by...

Thirteen times, you know that you’re stuck

If you continue, who knows when you’ll stop

When you’re trapped in a cycle of repeat, repeat, repeat

So that’s why I count, because if I don’t bad things will happen, but if I do

I don’t know if I’ll stop

THE COURTROOM INSIDE ME

There is a courtroom inside me

that never closes.

Every mistake

is evidence.

Every hesitation,

a confession.

And I am always

the accused.

I stand before myself

and wait for the sentence.

Sometimes

a small mistake

becomes a lifetime.

Sometimes

I punish myself

until I no longer recognize

the person I am punishing.

Then suddenly—

a shake of the head,

a breath,

the room around me—

and I return.

But the judge is still there,

waiting for the next mistake.

I keep collecting victories

like evidence for my defense:

See?

I am capable.

See?

I am not nothing.

But perhaps

I was never meant

to spend my life

proving my innocence.

Perhaps one day

I will walk out of this courtroom—

not acquitted,

not condemned,

just free.

"And he said stop, don't even think about it, he said no, Kip it can't be, you can't do it, but even though he muttered these words, it was already too late. He left it to the solitude, to the darkness; he vanished into the horror. He could no longer bring it back, he could not grieve over this, he had to move on. It wasn't his closest, nor was it his enemy, and it wasn't a nobody either. Then what was it? Apparently, the subject, Vinson, had lost his mind. We couldn't touch him anymore. It was left to him, and his final prayer was silence. Because he killed the nobody, was that why, I wonder? It was over, everything was over; fate was over, this was the end. This time it was the end, it was clear from Kip's eyes, from the way he stared into the distance, as if screaming 'it's my fault'. Not a single tear fell from his eyes because he was strong, born of a strength that would never bow down, and then the pistol fired. When the sound of the gunshot, firing without hesitation, merged with the wet walls of the cave, it blasted out towards freedom."

Peace at night
Chaos in the day

Reflecting and unwinding
But Struggling to settle

Alone and calm
Together but wound

Sirens…
Silence…

Static…
White Noise…

I dream of rest
But restless I am
What's to come next?

The peace of the night is rewarding 
The bread of the day is kneaded by chaos

Not knowing what's next boils
But knowing it will settle steams

Gratitude for the chaos
Brings the peace at night

I have not written or even thought about poetry for a long time. Probably since I was in middle school 20 years ago. For whatever reason I got into it tonight and really enjoyed it. It felt good to put my thoughts down on paper in an abstract way.

Any advice on forming habits, tips and feedback on poetry would be appreciated. This is a feeling I’d like to chase. Thank you!

The push and pull of explanation triggers me -

sometimes quiet, sometimes overexplaining.

There is never a balance.

And somewhere between the two,

my confidence gets smashed up into pieces.

Self-doubt enters the game,

along with guilt

And I am left with nothing but

a growing disrespect for my hardwork

and uncertainty about my future.

Ruining my present is this word - Explanation.

A word that is useless to the ears as the brain works faster in their case,

assuming what they want to;  shattering my heart, which begs me to restart

with self-love, confidence and quietness.

Nothing in the bars

I go to bars and parties
Shoulders touch, hands pull me in
The eyes meet …
I see the fire in their eyes
Against the cold in mine

Frozen in a time
Forgotten even by me
All their gaze and lips
Seems to fail
The fault Lies within

I am accustomed to the holy
Nothing is ever enough
I try to run in nights
To run in your ghosts in alleys

I keep on waiting for you to beat your heart
Again
Time and time again I pray for rain to drench me
But even then I wander the desert of your eyes
Forever destined to be lost
Like many chapters in your books
Now i will lay by the grave
Of what could have been

skim a stone down my back
and it will catch on the third kerplunk
where twisted roots
wormed their way across its surface
raising up off the skin
to block the sun warmed waves
of the first plip and second plop

there the rock will wait
as it slowly sinks bellow
to the sandy bank
that grits between my muscles
with nothing to keep it company
but the whip of reeds along the current
and the offbeat gurgle of my core

but if you so desire
don your rubber boots
and wade deep into my soul
if you can find it in the dark
and kick up past the thickened weeds
the stone will surely skip much further
from atop the raise of roots

Can I only rhyme a little? I’m new to poetry and trying assonance and alliteration so, all advice is appreciated!

Untitled

Where would someone fit in the folds of two day old laundry?

I think two days is fine,
If it’s in no one’s way but mine.

Could I explain empty frames on display?

Or the heart shaped wreath that hung year round?

Okay okay, I guess you can come inside.

But you can’t sit there,
I’ve only made room for the sun.

and no,
The cats are not truly fighting,
That’s just how they have fun.

How do I explain that sometimes at the end of the day,
The most exciting thing I did was put the laundry away.

And make a list for tomorrow;
-Make Room

​

I would let you disassemble every part of me on your operating table.

Do with me what you please

Scramble up these useless brains

Kill the ambitions and foolish ideas I call my own dreams

Make me your love zombie or only follow your pre-programmed script and plan.

I'd let you rid all hopes of a life I'd want

To have you, make me stay here with you

You could throw me away in the trash, if you'd like.

Or reshape me into someone or something you truly like or want

The better dream man you'd truly like to have

Since I clearly am not it.

Luckily it seems that this is only for me, 

A languid texture beguiling sorrow

She paints the canvas of the morrow

If a smile is what she needs

Then a smile let it be