Dear, dead you.


There was that time once,
when we stood out on the tracks. You looked your way and I looked mine. We sat down beside them, then.. in a cemetery.

It was an old battlefield, the freight trains rolled through it several times a day. We came that night to use a ouija board to talk to old ghosts othe war.

But all l we found was each other.

The grass was , there,

above the the bodies and amidstemories,

those whose which weren't ours, sleound us.

Their soTheir songhe air.

Ghost so Ghost songsoughts.

My heart. My heart was sad because what we werebidden.

We shoulden. We should not hagether.

But you ther. But yoh you,

and I wach you, and I was too very much me.

We made on't we?

Yes. Wedidn'tch did.

I miss hy much did. I miss hearing you sing that song you wrote.

"The sky is fallingr mouth.Did you ss your mouth. Did you ever stop to question why?"

I tho for me.

I still e it for me. I still don't knowfor me.

You didnit was hough.

I can't dn't say, though. I can'rds now.

This is t of me does.

It stealis is what time does. It steals memories and replaces them with regret.

I am a soft, glistidnight.

I miss tye of anights.

I watch I miss those mid nights. Ire now,

while yod dreams from down her there.

Do you fare though?

Can yowalk?

Do you sou floatdmother?

Does sheu walk? Do you sed you?

Did you ? Does she tell you te here?
id I?

It is tru know it it when you were here? Did I? It ol them.

They arend ling out

into thes, I can'this day,

wrapped ey are spilling out into the sheets of this day, wrapped around my head bed.

A head bed? What the hell is that?

You tell me. You are the one lyiour bed,

it's als you ever notice how if youur bed.
The words make it into a truth.

Your bedr bed, it's also as ry.

Maybe these are justg" in yourghts.

I am a lis a lie. Such poetry. Maybe just wasted thoughts. I am a lunatic writing a story.

I meant for this to be poetic and now I've gone and ruined it. This poem of today on my paper of homework of life. Drink my wine and call it stupid. Call my stupid and give it some wine.

I don't even drink wine. I don't even drink at all. It's bad for me. It's bad for YOU. If you want to drir don't. Whatever, it is not my decision to make. If want t drink yourself to death after a bad night, you.
Actually, it hurts me if that happens. I wish you had not gone that way, my friend. But I forgive you, almost. Not quite there yet.
I wish you had not gone that way, my sweetheart friend.
Your breaking yourself broke me. FYI.

If ythat happens. I wish you had not gone that way, my friend. If you do see my grandmother, please tell her that s I think, I hope, I really hope.

I hope to I miss Grandad, too. And one day, if I'm good enough, I guess.. I hope.. I will be there, too. And it will not be as awkward as I hope, I hope, to have you there and to have him there as well. All my hims will be there, and maybe they all will get along.

Maybe they'll all just send me to Hell where I most likely belong.


*Photography © @paintingangels

Comments 9

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18.09.2019 03:01


This post has been manually curated, resteemed
and gifted with some virtually delicious cake
from the @helpiecake curation team!

Much love to you from all of us at @helpie!
Keep up the great work!


Manually curated by @blewitt.

@helpie is a Community Witness.
For more information about our project,
please visit this month’s UPDATE post.

18.09.2019 03:23

damn late to give the cake myself!

20.09.2019 20:02

Adorable, dark, romantic, melancholic, nostalgic... Reminds me Keats poems , I love it 🖤. Thank you for sharing !!

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18.09.2019 04:27

This post was shared in the Curation Collective Discord community for curators, and upvoted and resteemed by the @c-squared community account after manual review.
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18.09.2019 04:35

OMG... this... 🙌

18.09.2019 08:46


I'm absolutely a fan of moody photography, that first image... <3

18.09.2019 15:53

so moody and eerie. I find cemeteries kind of peaceful I don't know why, they don't seem eerie at all, just a bit sad, like a lingering thought.

20.09.2019 20:02