He was the uncomfortable silence,
the lumbering steps up the stair.
He was a present too soon opened,
the unwanted guest at our dinner
for two.
He was the caw of a crow in the morning,
an alarm before one was set.
He was an attic of junk
churned up from the past.

A broken bottle in a bank of green glass.

Written by [Chimes]

What's guessed is scarce, and still less known,
But once there was a man,
So let's suppose he loved a soul,
And say there't all began.

Long ago there was a boy who,
Born to no great highness,
In the fashion of that era
Was named Valentinus.

There was a woman, too, involved,
Her ardent love denied.
His martyr's tale's remembered since,
'T's been whispered, it's been sighed.

We recall that woman's name not
Nor her person's merit;
No accounts acknowledge her or
What she did inherit.

A tragedy on both their sides;
His name's survived the cross,
Yet hers was lost to ages past
As though it never was.

Written by [Gastogh]

Please,
remind me to
breathe.
Sometimes, I forget.

Written by [Akayume]

Need is such an ugly word, like
a bleeding heart in a fist, or
a heart without a fist to clench it.

I loved you wrong but still I loved you,
and if you had been like me and
had no other love, that might have
been enough,
mightn't it?

Grief is a deep word, full of screams
and thrumming drowning, so this must
not be grief, this silent shredding
of soul and burning inaction.

I never wanted to take it back but
once taken back it seemed everything
must be taken back, so put it all into
reverse and leave it clean and neat and
empty: heart, gift, life.

Lonely is a shameful word, like shame
itself. Denying sin we seek repentance
and ask every shadow, Is this the way?
Is this the way from nowhere?

Ugly words burn in potential as the pen
hovers over the page, like photographs
in flame, and silent exploding cars from
the muted action movie in the background.
Flickering t.v. screen trembling in time with
the false, tense air. Helpless.

Regret and rage.

Written by [little flag]