It’s a melancholic diary.
I am the dandelion of the plain. Whether the wind blows or not, I am destined to fall apart. I scatter— and every fragment of me
By Nicole Moore2 months ago in Poets
That summer night, I was no longer shy. I no longer wished to hide—from your gaze, from the eyes of the world. Drop by drop, the courage that had been dripping for years
How far must I search for you? Where am I to seek you? Truly—where do the lost ones go? I am searching for you, while you journey into nothingness.
Your Tears What pure emotions they are… Your tears rise like a clear spring bursting from the heart of a hardened mountain;
Fire is no match for her. Inside her, lava flows. It roars and burns, turns being into ash, drives existence into nothingness.
No matter where I go or what I do, a hollow follows me — silent, patient, faithful. There is nowhere to escape. It yearns for an embrace so desperately
By Nicole Moore3 months ago in Poets
Neither here, nor there… No home in being, no shelter in existence. Neither alive… nor dead… No star in the sky, no stone upon the earth, offers me refuge.
By Nicole Moore4 months ago in Poets
O awake sun, Do not lie upon my bed— Stay away from me, For I fear the day When my dark, cold body Devours all your fiery locks,
You have become absence… Your absence, Like a soft, whispering breeze, Silently slipping past your presence, Leaving you trapped within a cage
You burn your cigarette and with it, you burn me. My only companionis it you who scorches me, or does my cold body drink your fire, melting it, ember by ember, inside my own slow blaze?
Just like a dancing doll in a box, I dance — and I dance, and dance. My ribbons shimmer under borrowed light, My smile stitched tight by chance.
At times, in the moment I am found, I vanish. And when I wander, I stumble upon myself again. There are days I rise from ruins—
