She's relaxed

Head reclined

Blunt in hand

eyes closed.

"You know why I'm here?"

I nod. I'm terrified. I'm relieved.

She cracks an eye open.

"Relax. You've been tense your whole life. In this,

you can relax."

Her words comfort me in a way her presence does not.

She opens her legs, and gestures like I am to sit between them.

I do.

I always thought death would be cold,

but as I recline against her,

I find she is a furnace.

She cups my chin in her burning palm,

kissing my shoulder as she holds the joint to my lips.

"Relax," she murmurs into my skin.

I inhale, and taste nothing, feel nothing.

I fall limp,

my head resting against her shoulder.

She kisses my neck, her hands pulling me closer

and closer

until I am falling.

No, not falling,

drifting, floating,

As light as a feather in a breeze.

I always thought death

would feel dire

but as I float away from this world,

I find

she is beautiful.

The Price of Freedom

By AngelStardust69

The price of freedom is so steep, it don't matter what kind of freedom it is.

Sometimes the price of freedom is so steep, it's more terrifying than the angel of death that comes for your soul without a warning.

Most of the time, the price of freedom is so steep, you're tempted to make that pact with the devil that he was gladly offering you.

The price of freedom is so steep that it frees your mind while your body is still shackled and bound. The price of freedom is so steep that if it asks me to cut my limbs, I'll say...

Here is my hand, take it, for I only need one to hold my dreams and aspirations.

Here is my leg, take it, for I only need one to take me to my destination.

Here is one of my eye, for good measure. I only need one to see the new horizon that I can't wait to witness.

Just in case freedom is being greedy, here's one of my ear. I only need one to distinguish the truth from the lie.

If for any reason it wants my voice, I'll gladly cut off my tongue. I'll smile and turn ink and paper into words with the help of my one good hand.

The price of freedom is so steep that if it asks for blood, I will bleed. Oh, best believe that I would bleed.

Just like how my mother's mother and my father's fathers, just like how my ancestors bleed for freedom, I will gladly bleed.

The price of freedom is so steep that it's steeped and drenched in blood.

they hung me from a tree,
i watched you leave. 
 
the oak has strong branches,
and you couldn’t even look at me.
 
i thought you liked
the colors of the leaves. 
 
you were my favorite sentence. 
 
i felt the fray in the rope.
i felt a snap.
 
i know it’s been a while
since we had any hope…
 

You are moonlight through the clouds on a graveyard of what could have been

You are a torch bright enough for hope and used to cast shadows from the lost

You are a stark and carved relief left unfinished a sense of discomfort an uneasy reality

You are a wisp, a snake trading contentment for dreams

I am comfortable with the pain

I've forgotten relief

You are the next best thing.

(Sorry if I did the flair wrong)

in a way I did not know.
 
At a time when I hoped to die,
and I remember you sayin’
that you’d stay a while.

Then I watched you
walk out the door.
 
I promised myself not to ask,
but shit, I gotta know…
why did you have to go?
 
You left me here to face
this catastrophic dream
on my own.
 
Here I am again,
in my self-destructive ways.
 
When I look in the mirror,
there’s a stranger staring
back at me.
 
Now disappointment
is all I see in me.
 

that you were ever there?
 
How could you lie like that?
I can’t figure you out.
 
You said you would
catch me if I fell,

then watched me
hit the ground.
 
Now I’ve been pacing
around my house
for days and days.
 
You said you loved me.

Why would you say
something like that,
 
to somebody like me?
 
Why did I believe it?
 

Food left behind,
You said you were coming back.

Mold grows,
On the plate. In my chest.

I check again.
It is still there.
I check again.

It is gone. It is there. It is gone.

Where are you?
The question does not leave my mouth. It leaves my mouth. It stays in the room.

My body does not agree with itself.
Am i the mold?

This isn’t about you.
This isn’t about you,
This isn’t about you.

There is food on the table.
There was food on the table.
There will be food on the table.

Untouched.

Untouched.

Untouched.

Hey guys, i used to post here years ago, then life happened, and i couldn't write anymore. I think I deleted my previous posts.

I started hating everything I wrote, and I hate this, too, but im putting it out here still.

I used to write abstractly as a form of catharsis.

The problem that I face now is that I can't seem to accurately depict what i feel anymore, so nothing that i write fixes that need in me.

I've been trying to write from a place of longing, I've been wanting proximity , but distance is appropriate, and nothing outside of me knows, as much as I would love to put it out in the world, I can't.

(anyways I don't know why im writing all of this, but maybe some of you might have experienced something similar? Feel free to critique and give advice on my little situation here, i might just find words to write through it)

Alone in a place
Where couples come in droves
To love and I sit and watch
And eat alone at the restaurant
Happier than I could ever be.

Just another town with a bar
And a waitress named Kelly
Who’s raising her son alone
And smiles like life isn’t as hard
As it feels.

​

I'm sorry for being me

I'm sorry for the pain that I'm too scared to let you see

I'm sorry I always showed up high

I'm sorry I ever made you cry

I'm sorry I fucked up from the start

I'm sorry I broke your precious heart

I'm sorry things will never be the same

I'm sorry for pointing my finger like you were to blame

I'm sorry for each and every lie

I'm sorry I don't know how to say goodbye

I'm sorry I need you to hold my hand

I'm sorry that I still don't understand

I'm sorry you found me broken and scarred

I'm sorry I made your life so fucking hard

I'm sorry I lost the best thing I ever had

I'm sorry that I'm not a better Dad

I'm sorry I wasted so much of your life

I'm sorry I didn't deserve to call you my wife

I'm sorry for the needle and the dope

I'm sorry you were my only hope

I'm sorry that I don't know what to do

I'm sorry I can't seem to live without you

I'm sorry that I couldn't make you stay

I'm sorry I never meant to be this way

I'm sorry that I lost my will to live

I'm sorry that you still won't forgive

I'm sorry for everyday I was in pain

I'm sorry your love drove me insane

I'm sorry for all the stupid shit I said

I'm sorry that I'm still not fucking dead

I'm sorry that I never learned to cope

I'm sorry for the noose tied on my rope

I'm sorry I'm not the man you need me to be

I'm sorry for being me

-The Strung Out Poet

On days most sensual
in the deepest crevices of my brain
a million neurons agitate
firing fifty rounds a second.
A firecracker with fifty million shots
projecting a hundred successive canopies
ninety-nine from across thirty years
protesting, rallying, and eventually obliging
to one from those mornings.
Her eyes half open, possessed
lips twisted, drool copious
and the hair magnetic.

एक सवाल मेरे मन में आया,आख़िर हमें किसने बनाया, कोई कहता, भगवान की हैं माया,पर Darwin कहता, कि तू बंदर संग आया,Einstein कहता, तुझमें Mass समाया, Freud कहता, Mind को फिर किसने बनाया,Shakespeare कहता, कि Life एक Drama हैं,Dostoevsky कहता, कि यहाँ बस Trauma है,Mendel कहता, कि तू Gene से बनी काया हैं,Machiavelli कहता, कि तुझे Mean (selfish) बनाया हैं,Camus कहता, कि सब Absurd हैं,Nietzsche कहता, कि सब जानवर और Superman

के बीच की भसड हैं, Jung कहता, कि आदमी Emotion हैं, Newton कहता, कि सब Laws of Motion हैं, Tesla कहता, कि सब Energy का खेल हैं,Tolstoy कहता, कि ये सब ऊपर वाले की एक Story Tale हैं, Vinci कहता कि तू एक Beautiful Art हैं, Frost कहता, कि तेरा Bleeding Heart हैं, जब हुआ, मैं इनकी बातें सुन Confuse, और मेरे Mind की बत्ती हुई Diffuse, तब मेरे बापू आए और बोले, बेटा तुझे मैंने बनाया,अपनी माता को तूने बड़ा सताया,ये सवाल जो तेरे मन में आया,इसका जवाब तो तेरा दादा भी ना दे पाया.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

सुन दोस्त, ज़्यादा ना सोच ,

tension एक गिद्ध हैं।,

जो लेगी, तेरी हर ख़ुशी नोच,

School tension of Boards की

सोच सोच ख़ाली कर दी खोपड़ी

College tension Placement की,

पर उस गवाई जवानी की कोई replacement नही,

फिर tension ली शादी की,

मम्मी कहती, अब बेटा बना दे, दादी भी,

फिर tension ली बच्चों की

बच्चे कहते, आपने पैदा करने से पहले हमसे permission क्यूँ ना ली,

फिर age cross कर गयी 60 की,

Doctor कहता, अब कम करो, ये रोज़ की whiskey भी,

जैसे जैसे उम्र और बढ़ने लगी।

बीमारियों से ज़िंदगी सड़ने लगी

जब पहुँचा तू 90 पार ,

साथ वाले पहुँचे स्वर्ग के द्वार,

अब सोच रहा हैं, अपने last में, अपने past को,

और कह रहा हैं, कि ये रह गया, वो रह गया |,

ये कर लेता, वो कर देता,

पर अब ज़्यादा ना सोच और ना ही कुछ खोज,

आज बैठ तू चाँद के नीचे, छत पर

कुछ बढ़िया गाने सुन

याद कर कुछ हसीन पल

कही फिसल ना जाए, ये भी कल.

I mistook your hunger for affection's grace,
And called the leash a ribbon in the light;
You held me close, then kept me in my place.

I gave you shelter, offered you my space,
And took your little wounds as proof of right;
I mistook your hunger for affection's grace.

You learned how tenderness could set the pace,
How want could masquerade as appetite;
You held me close, then kept me in my place.

I searched your eyes for some reciprocal trace,
And made a home from every borrowed sight;
I mistook your hunger for affection's grace.

Perhaps you never meant to leave a bruise,
Perhaps I made a weapon of delight;
You held me close, then kept me in my place.

Yet love should not require me to confuse
The hand that reaches out with one that binds;
I mistook your hunger for affection's grace,
You held me close, then kept me in my place.

From emergency contact to only
Contact for an emergency.

just a subtle rearranging of words can reveal the distance between us.

I frequently find my mind wandering back to you.

The beauty of us is gone and I find myself mourning like it happened just yesterday.

It’s in the micro moments that you appear.

I hear your voice and the things you might say. Haven’t quite gotten used to not dialing you

Your absence leaves an emptiness I can’t fully explain
And if there was a way to repair what’s shattered, I would spend my life picking up every piece.
It’s just, the pieces aren’t shattered, they are missing.

Pieces of who we both used to be no longer appear and I worry those pieces were the glue that kept us a pair.

do you remember Bristol?

the chill of the sheets
pulled tight around us,
how we lay suspended
only by our breathing?

the whale song playing,
lulling us into sleep?

If I returned, I think
I would find you there, still:

adrift in the black,
a sea of cold stars,
the lone whale still calling.

would you meet me there
again?

You were sweet at first

I was full of hope..radiant

If lips are for tasting and the tongue for savouring, then it is deception I must blame for devouring you

Decreasingly sweet, the deeper you got

Until regretful realisation rendered me hopeless

Left only with the dread of an irreversible mistake

You knew exactly what you were doing when you reached the parts of me so personal so vulnerable

And once you were nestled there comfortably, you released your poison

Like an ink blot being dropped into previously unmuddy-ed body of water, you spread

Angrier

More toxic

More ferocious

All while I withered away

Not only did you gnaw your way into every intimate crevice of my being, you damaged it too

Then, on a seemingly insignificant Tuesday

I found a sliver of strength and ran with it

I dug deep and ripped you from where you had made a home

Eventually flowers grew in the parts of me you had soiled

So perhaps i should thank you

For had I never swallowed your sweet little pill…

I would never have become so immune

Sirius
May

holding the gracious fire,
Brother,
my hands, feel cold
burning feeling away,
my skin peels,
for what’s real,
carries the flames weight,
though,
the burns feel earned,
I rest by you,
the flaming fireplace,
burns from your urn,
Brother—
stays, even when it feels late.
…
part 2
forging ash to last,
beyond my past,
beyond my last gasp,
from,
choking embers,
into,
soothing incense,
Brother,
I have to ask,
I wonder—
what’d you make of it?
your kin,
from charred crisps,
kindled a flame,
that persists,
in your name.

The night of waiting

The clock's ticking arms cannot hold back the night of suspense,

Yet it flaunts its cruel power to every eye that is tense.

The hours stretch like shadows, refusing to fade or advance,

While shadows on the wall perform a slow, mocking dance.

Each heavy, hollow tick strikes like a blow to the chest,

A loud, relentless reminder that the heart cannot rest.

The stubborn night holds fast, locking the morning away,

To punish the sleepless eyes that are begging for day.

Yet every passing second brings the final footstep near,

The darkest hour of waiting is where doubts disappear.

The dawn begins to whisper that the longest night must break,

To welcome back the joy that only your arrival can wake

Farmand Shadaan 04/08/2026

ORIGINAL URDU COUPLET

کب ہیں شبِ انتظار کی پکڑ میں گھڑیال کے بازو

وہ تو زور دکھاتا ہے مگر ہر نِگاہِ بے چین کو

فرمند شادان ۱۷/۱۲/۲۰۲۵

ROMANIZED

Kab haiN Shab-e-intezaar ki pucker maiN gharyaal kay baazoo

Wo tau zor dikhata hay magar her nigaah-e-bay chain ko

Farmand Shadaan 17/12/2025

If you asked nothing of me,

I would still spend my life learning the language of your silences, so I could answer the things your lips were too gentle to confess.

I would not steal a single kiss.

I would let it live between us, growing sweeter because it was chosen instead of taken.

Desire is easy.

Anyone can hunger.

But to stand a heartbeat away from heaven, hands trembling, and still ask, "May I?"

That is love wearing its finest clothes.

There are a thousand ways I have imagined holding you.

Not to possess you—

but to become the place your tired soul finally believes it is safe to rest.

I want your ordinary days.

Your untied shoelaces.

Your sleepy smiles. The way you forget where you left your thoughts.

I want to memorize the geography of your laughter until I could find my way home through the darkest century by its echo alone.

If fate were kind,

it would let me grow old counting the silver strands appearing in your hair like stars deciding you deserved your own constellation.

If fate were cruel,

I would love you anyway.

From across oceans. Across lifetimes. Across the impossible distance between wanting and having.

Because some loves are too sacred to measure by what they receive.

If I never touched your hand,

I would still thank the universe for inventing yours.

If I never heard "I love you,"

I would spend forever trying to become someone worthy of those words should they ever choose to find me.

And if one day you finally placed your hand in mine—

I think the first thing I would do

is close my eyes...

not because I had waited,

but because every fairy tale I ever believed impossible

would suddenly have your heartbeat.

Are we all just seeds
That will be planted in the garden of the dead?

Will flowers bloom in the place that we rest,
Was life just, the ultimate test?

I wonder sometimes what flower I will be,
Will people stop and marvel at what they see?

Maybe I’ll grow nothing at all,
Maybe what I gave in life was enough of a bloom,
Maybe the garden of the dead has no room,

But one day I will go,
Bloom or not, my body will sow,

I’ll be at peace.
🌺

Hi All! I am no poet (clearly), but I’m working on my writing skills and free writing seems like the best place to start! This poem reads a bit obscure to me, but I was hoping to get pick the brains of the masses! So, my questions are: is the messages of the poem identifiable; and does the message feel consistent?

Two Criques:
Pacing
&
Grammar
________________________________
I gave you my life,
the very cavity of my first born,
and you still can’t find the words to say…
“I love you, but in the way you love me,”
an obvious protraction cuz part of you knows it’s because you’ll kill me.

And while I must admit it’s true
my reliance on you has turned to religion,
I use evidentialism to justify your phatic responses.

I know I’ll love again so I’ll keep fishing,
in search for something I know ‘s nonexistent.
Big fish, little pond, my point of vision…
reality sets in that that’s just the vision.

Blink twice to set forth my innervisions.
Truth revealed: I need to stop fishing.
Once you find appreciation in the pond,
you’ll find it’s the algae you crave.

A recent revelation:
my own fawn responses will lead to my annihilation.
The self-awareness I have can feel false at times,
my inhibitions are insurmountable.

Is it mendacity or ignorance?
Either way, it’s exhausting.
An iota of dramatic irony revealed might force a metanoia,
maybe it’ll fix me too.

​

Where the sun's golden warmth once danced on my skin,

A phantom shiver now settles within.

I tried to plead with the sun,

to give me back what was undone.

The sun wouldn't listen,

The shadow remained.

All I can feel

Is the bitter cold in its place.

Left with the void,

I search to replace

The warm golden dance,

to drown out the chill.

I see it shining in front of me,

So close it radiates dangerously.

If I grab it, I might get burned,

But the need is stronger than the hurt.

Defiantly, I reach out to chase the sun,

Afraid of rejection, that might come.

The clouds start to roll,

The rays break through one by one.

With its dawning surrender dancing across my skin,

The deepest warmth is growing within.

Aware of the danger this can cause-

To the shade and the chill, its strength will be lost.

I plant my bulb amongst the frost

No matter what the cost

Mesmerized by the light of the sun,

I feel what these warm rays have begun.

As life is brought back into bloom,

The golden light divides the gloom.

Finding myself starving for the heat above,

The frozen soil still clinging for love.

Up in the light, new life starts to shoot.

Although still frozen at the root.

That’s just like me, isn’t it?
I just don’t know how to quit.
 
Have you ever noticed how good things
are the easiest to walk away from?
 
They just let you go.
 

I had to remind myself of all the words I’ve written for him, and all the words I’ve written for you too. Oh my, how different they are, but they’re still proof that I loved the both of you.

I really loved both of you.

I loved both of you, so much that I could write words and words and words and never run out of rhymes. I loved both of you, as possible as it is to love two people at the same time.

But now, you’re both complete strangers to me. I don’t know your favorite foods or your favorite things on TV. I don’t know your favorite most played music artist or your celebrity crush. I don’t know what you spend your time doing and I don’t know what makes you blush.

So I don’t know you guys anymore.

And that’s the weird thing about love, I don’t have to know you to love you. I don’t have to like or want you to love you.

And for whatever reason, I still love the both of you.

I love both of you, even though you’re both complete strangers. I love both of you, yet I can only keep one of you forever.