Mental Health
TEARS ON MY PILLOW
TEARS ON MY PILLOW How do you heal a broken heart, When night comes round and the tears all start? I put my arms round my pillow tight, Pretending someone holds me tonight. I kiss the place where your lips would be, And wish there were arms reaching back for me.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 21 days ago in Poets
The Worm Burns . Top Story - October 2026.
As the world turns and the worms roll in the soil and the clay a mixture of the dead and the not yet born as the world turns and I feel the regret burn and the guilt corrode as the truth settles in my stomach as the acid can't quite dissolve it and eat it as the world turns and the worms roll and turn in the soil and the clay a mixture of the dead and not yet born as the world turns and I feel the regret burn and the guilt corrode as the truth settles in my stomach as the acid can't quite dissolve it and eat it as the self-inflicted pain that sears and years it sears and tears like a knife to butter or bone and marrow, a self-induced comatosal version of living but not quite living is what I am left with as I can't move on sometimes I can't move on and I can't move on but I must move on as the world turns. And it burns and it burns through layer and layer until my skin is flayed and singed and detritus discarded in a bin but not forgotten but not forgiven not nearly enough. As the world turns and the worm burns and I roll in the destitute squalor of my last worst decision. Could I can I won't I would I be better or will the juice of destiny remain bitter on my tongue? When Faust comes calling don't answer don't answer when Proust comes calling take the time to immerse. Immerse. Yea yes yes a thousand times yes there is always hope somewhere anywhere if you look for it search for it as if looking for that one golden ticket to the chocolate factory of a madman with a kindly heart. Satire satire Sartre life becomes a satire of life itself and we are all the poorest of players the poorest of players on a stage designed to corrupt and concoct to entice and erode of sound and fury and signifying everything everything everything and yet nothing. So I wake again and see the faces of the ones I love, hear the calls of the crows, ravens and jackdaws and the odd dog in the distance or just down the hall and I think is it really important to be so struck by fear that hope may never arrive when really hope will arrive if you allow it to arrive and then I just don't know what else I can do but keep moving forward.
By Paul Stewart21 days ago in Poets
