Hello! I'm from the Southern US, it's a bit isolating where I live. I'm looking for friends who like to share their hobbies and experiences. One thing I like to do with friends is read a book at the same time and discuss it. Other than reading, I write poetry, listen to music, play roguelikes, and I have a small garden.
There is no silence like the dusk,
the fireflies and summer's musk,
and no company kept contempt,
but satisfied with seconds spent
by fireflies dancing in the dark.
The breeze exhales in sighing swoon,
so warm amidst the rising moon,
and lays us down to downy rest.
Oh yes, for me that would be best.
I'm an autistic adult going through a terrible depressive episode. My mind is dark, and I feel completely alien to others. I'm hoping for someone who can relate. I enjoy reading, poetry, music, and gardening.
Among the endless ruin,
near an oily black lake
and a polychrome sun,
we catch neon snowflakes
upon our naked tongues.
Shivering in the stick trees,
a two headed wolf glares.
Patchy furred and stunned,
but hungrily she stares
straight at the smallest one.
I crave that aged slumber,
sweet rest for rest's sake
with dreams without number,
myself not to wake.
The world mustn't quit its turning,
nor the clocks to stop in their circles,
or lone lovers kept from yearning,
the righteous fighting their struggles.
The summer keeps itself to fall,
then cool to winter, rain to spring.
The buds must bloom and trees reach tall,
this earth is such a wondrous thing.
This place is not a place for me.
I've downed my moon and set my sun.
For sure, it never could have been.
Beginning's ended, end's begun.
I'm so sorry for whatever it was I did to send you all away. I'm not perfect, but I try to be the best friend I can and I love you.
I don't know if it's my depression sucking the energy out of you, my anxiety causing me to ruin the vibe, or my autism causing so many misunderstandings. I'm probably just a jerk.
I'm at one of the darkest points in my life, and to be honest I really wish I wasn't here anymore but I have too many obligations keeping me.
I just wish one of you would reach out. Please know I care, I just don't know what to say that wouldn't make things worse. I feel like I'm bothering you, or hurting you just by trying. I feel like I can only make mistakes now.
Again, I love you and I'm sorry.
S.
Brown for comfort,
white for sleep,
blue for awful
thoughts I keep.
Look! A huge one
for my heart.
When they're gone,
my life will start.
Around the flame loss always hangs near,
a silent shadow moving only with flickers.
When snuffed, black shapes stay burned
into sidewalks, stairs, and house facades.
I long for a soft fire that casts no shade,
a single candle burning night and day.
I could hold it in my hands and let wax
drip down my fingers without scalding.
Can light be without the duality of the dark?
It mustn't burn the night, only the space
between me and behind the taper where
no gaunt mocking umbra cavorts in murk.
Would that exist, or must I split the atom
to warm myself in its twenty mile radius
and feel it grace our gasping faces when
the flash catches our final moment in char?
Bad to the cucumber,
cool as a bone.
A hot knife through wine,
I age like fine butter.
When life gives me ice cream
we all scream for lemons,
and jump to the time
in the nick of conclusions.
If the shoe fits, trade it
for a jack of all wear,
then go kick the wood
and knock on the bucket.
There's light at the end of the leap,
so look before you tunnel.
Give me or take me.
It is dark in this old house,
and I am alone.
Tight chest, racing thoughts.
Breathe. Two. Three. Four.
Heart skipping, went too far.
Breathe. Two. Three. Four.
Eyes glazing, feeling faint.
Breathe. Two. Three. Four.
Gasping, curled up on the floor.
Breathe. Two. Three. Four.
Sick, I threw up on my shirt.
Breathe. Two. Three. Four.
Please, I won't try it again.
Breathe. Two. Three. Four.
Breathe. Two. Three.
Breathe. Two.
Choke.
Can't breathe,
Can't speak.
Send help,
can't see.
My
legs
won't
move
and
I
I wish to feel the full effects
of this hostile surgery.
Inject succinylcholine
and incise straight and clean.
Make this surface shudder,
and carve into the red.
Be sure to keep me paralyzed
upon this morbid bed.
I've only left a quart of blood,
so make your cuts precise.
Remove affecting organs,
and put them all on ice.
Suture me with zippers
to open at your pleasure.
You'll need more parts eventually,
no flesh stays fresh forever.
Choosing coffee,
my morning drug,
the cat is crouched beside.
Nothing said he,
but merely shrugged,
then swat me in the eye.
"Good morning and good bye"
Later on,
the day is gone,
he lay upon my chest.
Purring some,
and biscuits done,
now sleeping on my breast.
"I give you all my best"
Such soft moss is this
where among the fronds
a salamander sits,
and milky dew prisms alight
many forest born dreams,
and black beetles take flight.
What a weird dark wonder
in the uncertain end
of soft and earthly things.
All pass away as clay
dissolving in a stream,
perhaps reborn with wings.
At night the blue jay sleeps
through howling wind and rain.
The next morning she sings.
Maybe I'll meet you there,
nested among the leaves,
us blue jays in the trees.
And you'll have found a life
more dear than all the gold
singing within the green.
I try to write poems for you,
but so often my heart flutters
and it skips every few letters.
P ease kn w I ha en't stopp d.
Please take my heavy presence,
the pressure of my substance,
and don it as a weighted blanket
in the colder months of life.
Wear my moth eaten thoughts
as a favorite bedtime shirt,
no longer fit for public life,
though perfect for resting.
I'll sing to you, sad and low,
but full of beautiful things
and hope of morning after,
the sun breaking the horizon.
Wake with the echo of my song,
hum it as you brew your coffee,
and let it drift away as dreams do
when your eyes brighten.
All letting go is letting pain.
My hair has gathered in the drain.
This silver glass shows not again.
In darkness, sitting hides my shame.
I pulled my teeth and tasting blood,
I've found again my face a flood.
For all or not, this isn't good,
to rip apart my softened wood.
I can't in darkness truly see
what emptiness has done to me,
but standing by and letting be
is easier than being free.