Introducing Guest Room, The First Completely Anonymous Poetry Journal 28

Nepotism is the disease of our age. It infects all strata of society, but nowhere is it more pandemic than in literary publishing. We have become obsessed with status, and no longer have a sense of the collective imagination. Instead of creating a genuine community, open to new ideas and universal progress, we’ve created a publishing environment that explores only the self, and rewards only the institutions that maintain social order. This is an illusory perversion of reality that will not be able to sustain itself. Poetry is capable of impacting humanity on a global scale, but only if language can be encountered outside of the constructions and presumptions that are currently strangling it.

In order to make a change, the small literary journal—the first bastion of publishing—must take charge in the literary community’s evolution. There are very few journals that are actively combating the greater nepotistic picture. For instance, the journal Anon should be lauded for their commitment to reading submissions blindly. Realistically, though, shouldn’t that be standard practice for every publication? Anon has taken a crucial step toward egalitarianism, but even they have not explored the bounty of non-identity deeply enough.

Introducing Guest Room:

Guest Room Poetry Journal

Guest Room will be the first journal to not only read transmissions anonymously, but also publish with complete anonymity. Throughout the entire process—from the initial transmission to the final publication—the identity of the poet will be fully shrouded. Even the editors will at no point have knowledge of who transmitted what, nor which poets end up appearing in the journal. All poems will be credited to Guest, and there will be no author bios.

Transmission Guidelines:

We have no guidelines and no restrictions. Guest Room accepts simultaneous transmissions, previously published work, full-length manuscripts, narratives, plagiarized poems, haiku, extraterrestrial verse, traditional forms, and all other extensions of poetry you may care to invent. There are no reading periods, no deadlines, and no competitions. The only rule is that you must transmit anonymously. If you include your name or any identifying information, your transmission will be filtered out automatically.

Starting today, Guest Room will be accepting transmissions at Be sure to follow @YourGuestRoom on Twitter and like the Facebook page to keep apprised of the latest developments.

28 thoughts on “Introducing Guest Room, The First Completely Anonymous Poetry Journal

  1. Reply Vladimir Nabokov Jun 9,2013 3:06 pm

    The phrase “Nepotism is the disease of our age” is like saying “Death is generation Y’s toy locomotive.” Do not bewilder me with derelict descriptions of phenomena that supposedly are merely characteristics of “our times”. The worst is an amateur writer whose writing exhibits a flawed effort to put his “finger on the pulse of his generation”. Firstly, nepotism is inherent in social behavior and as such it belongs to ALL ages. Secondly, it is not a disease, but a human trait. If you are still inclined to use the term “disease”, then enhance the damned metaphor! Work with it! Play!

    And that’s how you start a piece of writing? I will ostracize this blog from my ghostlike cognition, and shall never appear here again. Good luck with your journal. Time to move on, bitchezzz!

  2. Reply submission Jun 13,2013 1:20 pm


    a furtive curling of the fingers

    upon approach, feet hovering above

    the pleasure / one angel’s audit

    she says “We’re hurtling toward the sun”

    I await a restive station of the cross

    in dreams you’re brunette again and still alive

    awash in shiny urls

    I walked to the marina at dusk and watched the white boats

    until I felt sick

    Together we circled it all in red

    feet, glass, sky, ambitions at night

    I won’t come to this neighborhood again

    I’m just not getting any bars

    all waves are cold and dark and carry you down

    and the ferry never bothered showing up

  3. Reply Phyliss Johnson Dec 16,2013 8:12 pm

    by P.Johnson

    Sometimes I stress out wondering if there is anyone else like me.

    Then my stress reliever comes in and it’s light green.

    I let the pain all get taken away from the bullshit that has plagued me throughout the day.

    I hate it when I get like this why doesn’t any see.

    The problems that I have make me look crazy.

    Yes I have issues ones you would understand my best friend couldn’t even tell you who the fuck I am.

    My family is blind to it.

    No one can see through it.

    When I throw on a fake smile and keep it there all day screw it.

    ya know’ I thought by now my life would have changed.

    I want to change my ways but I’m afraid of the pain.

    I go to a therapist for them to tell me I will do nothing but fail.

    Give me someone who knows me and about my specific ticket to hell.

  4. Reply submission Dec 19,2013 6:46 am

    I am a robot tot
    I Google all night and day
    I love to play with myself
    as words in my head rot

    I am a cyborg freak
    I speak to the nuclear age
    Googled in a playful rage
    when I sit too long my fluids leak

    I am a disembodied neural net
    a automaton in a post-identity hovel
    my sad little metal tongue a shovel
    my AC/DC circuits I cannot get wet

    I am a melancholic android
    my heart is a digital void
    unlike millions I am employed
    making liberals very annoyed.

  5. Reply Stephen Sossaman Jan 16,2014 2:16 am

    Is nepotism really the primary problem in contemporary poetry? I would have imagined that nepotism was a far smaller problem than the conceptually similar practice of favoring people not because they were relatives, but because they were not relatives (but were lovers, or had great potential to enhance one’s career). I believe there was once a site called foetry that revealed which contest judges gave poetry prizes to lovers or spouses, to their professors or students. I share your general revulsion at current publication practices, but I suspect that your call for an anonymous poetry site has achieved what you set out for, and that such a site will not thrive at all. I was put in mind of Sol Lewitt’s conceptual art — once you have the concept, do you really need the realization? Oh, and I will leave to some other commenter the issue of copyright infringement and take-down notices, since you invite plagiarized poetry.

    • Reply Ted Hash-Berryman Jan 16,2014 5:07 am

      I appreciate your skepticism, but not your pessimism. I’m happy that you share my general revulsion, and I would like to personally invite you to do something about it. Have faith, young brother, for the editors of Guest Room are wading through the slush-pile as we speak. I hope that, in the end, you’ll choose to transmit a poem. Remember:

      “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that.”
      -Ted Hash-Berryman

  6. Reply Carter Oct 15,2014 6:01 pm

    No, you are familiar
    With the sound of coins in your pocket Ringing loudly, unsilently.
    I have none.
    You must not be familiar with loneliness. The empty feeling in the pit of your stomach Crying out to you.
    No, you are familiar
    With the screeches of happiness Coming from your family.
    I have none.
    You must not be familiar With the harshness of the cold Tearing apart your skin, Cracking your lips.
    No, you are familiar
    With sunny fires and blankets Lighting up your perfect house. I have none.
    Try living a day
    In my shoes,
    But that would be hard, Since I have none.

  7. Reply Carter Oct 15,2014 6:02 pm

    oops it wouldnt let me put the first part, sorry

  8. Reply Madison Barbara Randall Jan 26,2015 1:32 pm

    “A Hells Angel Walks In The Shoes Of A Earths Commoner”

    today’s pain like the cramp inside her gut
    ending in the most horrid delusional unforgiven corrupted way
    summer times heart gaping nights are lengthy
    when no body a round
    a numbest numb in her feet
    set high and collided with her frail bones
    racket justified like some single frost bitten rain pebble marries the roughest thick cackling storm amongst the simple slick crack in the glass of ones destructed home night room window
    in a lonely broken home on a hill
    common eyes fill up hurt like a fast food machine serves milkshakes to the starving caving stomach of the dangerously dangerous
    curious irises blown up like sheep’s blood sprays on the whitest white emotionless just beneath the soul the volcanos max increase heat point lava spelt canvas
    a desirable sour bitterness
    the screaming of shaken souls claiming own over the plain dames middle name
    swift mere contact sound bound gentle tall white feather
    the distance ran into her more so in my memory
    the ocean deep blackest pitch couldn’t crawl to shore irresponsible though undoable mind incompatible did
    yes before eyes of the hopeless helpless sprung the beginning of a un demolished map beyond destiny destine to the most tinted dreams far across all seven seas
    the destructive girl got a match in the ring with her very first errand just as innocent as a babies first glimpse of sun kissed sky like today the wind lifted an angel
    way above the sky scrapers unconfident dainty cloth drying line
    she has never panted so great in a selfish worthless life
    the aim balances at an unbreakable structure once built by hands silky soft to their touch play elements of the most worthy
    never in the improper’s most distorted dream
    a hotline to hell
    nonexistent life arisen from dirt of churning planet earth
    so far so satisfactory
    no punctuation
    no moral to the seal written of the heavens
    just beauty
    goodness of the gracious
    the most breath stealing daisy on a buoyant summer day
    still and cozy
    Astonishing like the life of messiah pumping through undeserved inexperienced child veins
    a ending born to every beginning
    selfish desire runs a life length marathon
    the sheep says bahh not a clue of a brewing habanero self coincided evilness beyond her lucifers saint
    the lost travel the limping aroma of the doomed complained
    the narcotics embrace and erase and lock her in this dream filled with burning untamed victory infinities first sanctuary of true love and satisfaction
    the only place level with heaven
    only doves suffocate to their dying breaths and birds never sing harmless beaks melt shut height of temperature arranged to satisfy yours only Lucifer
    her euphoria can only kill everything living
    unforgiving like adult’s fib
    undeniably cunts gave birth to her on earth because before the end she comes face to face with her brittle death bed
    born to rest under the cement six feet beneath six closer to hell

    special thanks to:
    •class A narcotics
    •brain struction
    and last but not least
    •my wonderful mummy Deborah-Lynne Paton

  9. Reply Anonymous Apr 7,2015 6:26 am

    I am nothing, and that is the truth with which I live. Everything has a way of not working. If I love something, I’m not enough to even attempt to seize it, and it naturally slips away from me. The only thing that I had was a voice, and even that seems to be trying to leave me, as if to tell me something, as if to try to humble me. However, humility is a human emotion, and I am less than a human. How can one feel humble if one can’t even say for sure that he exists? No, there is nothing that this will teach me, as I am too far gone for a lesson. My mind is always wandering, as if searching for all the things that it couldn’t seize in the moment. It’s searching for those faces that have left it long ago, never to truly return. It travels as I sit there, and if my mind is not in that moment, then where am I? What is to say that I even exist when my mind can’t even ground itself in its reality. There’s nothing to stop it either, as it has made me distant. Nobody can see me or speak to me, as they know that I’m not really there, maybe in body, but not in spirit. In spirit, I’m never there, and when my spirit returns from its long and fruitless journeys, I am always alone. Never with my friends, as they scare it away, and make it want to continue its solitary voyage for its desires. People ask me “What profession would you like to take?”, and I cannot tell them, because that is a question for the part of me that is not there. That is a question for the spirit, not for the nothingness that it leaves behind in their presence. I can’t answer, because the part of me that could tell the answer to such an intimate question doesn’t even know where it is, let alone where it is truly going. Around others, I am what the spirit leaves behind. Just the empty shell which makes predictable responses to input. I talk, but only with the wariness that a wire frame can have. They don’t know it, but they’re really talking to nothing, nothing at all. They talk to the part that is bound here by physical law, but they don’t speak with me.

    And now, I can’t even speak to them. The small anchor to reality that I have is slowly drifting, as my voice parts ways with the body, and joins the spirit and the mind on their journeys far away, where I can’t access them reliably. It’s gone. Of the things that could leave me, I would never have thought this. I can only hope that it returns when I need it, as my mind does when I take a test, or my spirit does when I am emulating emotion. The issue is that I quarrel with my spirit when it visits me. It is always when I am alone. I require a voice to speak, even with the areas of myself, so that me, my mind, and my spirit can all come together as one even if for a short time. My voice, in many ways, is me. It is what I am when my mind and spirit are not there for me, and even it betrays me. So where does that leave me? Have I truly become less than nothing? If I’ve got a mind searching for lost moments, a spirit wandering in some distant land, and now a voice which needs to sleep, then what am I but less than nothing?

  10. Reply Maria (for a friend) Jun 8,2015 2:24 am

    The moment is now
    The ground accepting my resignation

    The hands hold steady
    This noose will not fail

    The chair may hit the floor
    But you didn’t let it, no
    This noose holds my neck
    I’m fine don’t sweat it

    It’s my necklace
    A fashion statement
    I’m not alone
    He has his rounds with that holster
    She has her pillow case.
    We know each other
    The look, the sweat inside their eyes
    The sign that they survived
    The struggle to stay alive
    Their mind is fighting back
    Trying to make it black

    But you, you saved me.
    Noticed my noose and loosed it.
    Brought me to the ground
    Sat me down
    Told me, look around

    Said those people there
    Hey, they don’t see me.
    Hey, they don’t see what we have
    This struggle wants to cuddle
    It likes to take our hopes
    And turn them into ropes

    It takes the beauty away.
    It’s up for you to see it.

    When you need a healing
    Look up past the ceiling
    The sky holds God who knows
    He knows you’re not alone
    Do you?

  11. Reply Betty Oct 19,2015 3:58 am

    You are the person breathing my air and you chose to stop.
    You lived as quickly as you died in me.
    We played, and I lied, too.
    But it was you that bore down. Turned off.
    You stripped me.
    You rubbed me, hard, against the grain.
    And then asked me why it hurt.
    Until my spine grew tall, like trees, and shadowed your plains.
    And now I go, strong, and high.
    And I scream, guttural.
    And I live.

    While you are on the floor. Unable to fix.

  12. Reply Gordon Oct 26,2015 3:19 pm

    This is the first time in a long time that i’ve been able to hear the silence of the world…
    I never knew how lonely it could be….
    It is peaceful, yet destructive in a way.
    The night is still, the sky is silk black, filled with specks of various colors gleaming constantly proving to us that they exist.
    A ball of plasma, bursting with energy, violent, yet calm
    Millions are scattered across our universe, new ones emerge, amongst the old ones and massive ones that inevitably die.
    Particles floating in the air, particles existing in our veins. Iron, iron in our blood, iron in the Earth.
    …Bang, that’s how it started, a small little speck exploded into the biggest life creation imaginable.
    Galaxies, stars, moons, planets, plants, oxygen, creatures, evolution.
    The Sun, it is the center of our solar system. So hot, the mere thought of life there is unfathomable.
    The Moon, a natural “satellite”, without it we would be blind at night
    Earth, one of the millions of planets that exist, the one that we happen to exist on. Creatures, evolved over millions of years to get to where they are now, not a creation, a … spectacular phenomonon.
    Plants, the oxygen that us creatures breathe, the reason for the ozone layer, our atmosphere.
    Water, H2O feeds the plants, and alas, hydrates us creatures.
    Humans, an evolutionized ape, a creature, one that so often feels righteous in a way to put itself in power as if it is its so right place to do so, not the creators of Earth, but only the destroyers.

  13. Reply Somebody Else Nov 5,2015 1:27 pm

    I’m sorry Morgan…
    What is it? What aren’t you telling me?
    She’s dead, Mo.
    What? No, that can’t be true! You’re lying!
    I’m not. I’m so sorry.
    Who. Did. This?
    Morgan, calm down.
    Morgan stop, you’re scaring me.
    Morgan please hear me! I know this hurts, I know. She was my only friend in this jumbled mess of a world. She was more for you.
    Of course she was! You can never understand!
    I know I can’t. You had something special. But I can’t let you go off to kill yourself.
    You can’t stop me.
    I can.
    You can’t stop me, see?
    I do what I have to. You will be all right.
    And how would you know?
    Trust me.
    How can I?
    Trust me.
    You’re sliding again.
    So what? I’m going to be falling a whole lot further soon.
    No, Morgan. You’re not.
    You can’t stop me.
    I can. Please Morgan, come back.
    Please, Morgan!
    I said no, Ama.
    Suicide isn’t a way out for you.
    Yes it is.
    No, it’s not. You’re part of something Bigger, remember?
    That doesn’t mean that I’m driven to become it after death.
    Come back, please.
    I can’t.
    You can. Please, come back.
    You know this, Ama. It’s been coming for a long time.
    I love you, Morgan. Come back.
    Promise you won’t stop me again.
    I can’t do that.
    Why not? Don’t you hurt too?
    Of course I do. More every day. I wake up thinking she’ll be there. And she never is.
    You don’t know what loss is yet.
    I can feel it in you.
    Just bits and pieces. I’m trying to keep it off you.
    Because my guilt would be too much if I did that to you.
    So you care about me still?
    How could I not?
    You are suicidal.
    Come back. I need you here. Please.
    I’m sorry.
    No need.
    Come here, please. Give me your hands.
    See. It’s not so hard.
    It is. You don’t understand how lucky you are.
    What do you mean?
    Ama, you can love and hate, but things get deeper with age. Heartbreak gets worse, love gets better. Tragedy makes a much deeper cut. You don’t have to keep the scars given to you, but I do.
    This one will fade.
    Do you really believe that?
    Thank you.
    Welcome. Now please, come back Home.
    No, Ama.

  14. Reply Submission Nov 11,2015 8:18 am

    Things I love

    I love the crispness of the air after rain,
    Light and clean, as if born again,
    The pinpricks of light shining in the night sky,
    Chasing away the perpetual darkness of night,
    And the song of the wind rushing through the trees,
    As if greeting and bringing joy to all it sees.

    I adore the way the ocean waves crash against the shore,
    Bombarding the land with its everlasting power,
    The beauty of the sun peeking out from beyond the horizon,
    Its innocence bringing hope to man and animal alike,
    And the magnificent colours of leaves on trees,
    First green, then red, orange, yellow.

    I treasure the sound of a river flowing,
    Gurgling, gushing, bubbling,
    The wonder of flowers coming into bloom,
    Like faeries opening their wings for the very first time,
    And the mysterious light of the moon,
    Not quite illuminating all that’s happening below.

    But all of these miraculous, wonderful things
    All of them, I would make yours if I could
    In a heartbeat, without a second thought
    Because I could never love anything
    Even nearly as much as I love you.

  15. Reply sarah Dec 20,2015 9:20 am

    I always have you.
    My insidious friend.
    You’ve always been there to help me forget.
    But you come at a price
    One I’ve willing to pay…
    Because your delirious effect has been worth the pain.
    My lovely little voice,
    Always residing there.
    Inside that hollow space, that fills my skull my chest, the air
    Screaming back at me
    Bitch why can’t you see
    You’re nothing but a temporary artifact of artificiality.
    I block my ears with layers of denial and bedsheets
    My friend my dear friend come out of your hiding.
    Let me see what is causing this…
    Empty, bottomless, blacked, fucking bleak abyss.
    Never mind the fear…
    That cripples me and makes me question
    What the hell is wrong with me?
    And why I feel as though there’s a confession?
    That I have yet to say,
    Because I don’t know what it is.
    But somehow maybe a part of me realizes and just doesn’t want to admit?
    Memory is a tricky beast, and I won’t rely on it with overestimation.
    But why would I feel this way unless there was a reason.
    Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to give into devastation.

    Because maybe I’m just tired, from other sources of pain
    But they don’t seem like enough to me so I make up a horrible explanation…
    Unconsciously but still, I feel horrible for the suggestion,
    And yet,
    Still can’t understand the complications.
    In my own fucking head,
    This twisted spider web,
    Of interconnected self – hating thoughts,
    Each one of left to fester and rot,
    Until they are addressed
    By this now bloody fucking mess,
    Spilling down the sides,
    Of my familiar t shirt fibers,
    As I wrap it tight enough
    To cut off all the flow
    Of the life source to my hand
    And the things I can now let go.
    Or so I tell myself,
    For now at least I’ll relent,
    Until I pick up that box on the concealed shelf
    And once again to my empty room lament.

  16. Reply Fay Jan 6,2016 1:44 am

    They say time heals a broken heart,
    opposites do attract.
    Mostly the smiles are truly genuine
    But sometimes,
    Sometimes the pain is everything.

  17. Reply P Jan 14,2016 8:03 am

    Maybe you weren’t the one for me, and I wasn’t the one for you.
    Two years have passed and I ask myself why my heart still wanders and asks what ifs about you.

    Maybe it was the way you looked at me, the way your lips lingered on mine.
    I held your head, you held my face.
    Then we realized it was time.
    Time. Time. Where did the time go?
    Maybe we let each other go…
    But when we look at each other from a distance we both know.
    Quietly, secretly, we crave a forbidden wonder, and we ask what ifs.

    I look at you, you look at me.
    why do I feel a passion building in me
    from a distance we analyze each other
    quietly, secretly.

    is a plutonic love what we’ll always be to one another?

  18. Reply anonymous Jan 28,2016 4:45 pm

    Darkness seems to rise from my feet and engulfs my being
    So sad
    So cold
    In my head, around they swirl
    Regrets and words and lots of pain and images of what was
    Bitter bitterness
    Bites my conscience
    Confused and alone
    Where is the throne?
    What have I pledged my allegiance to?
    What have I done?
    What doors have I opened or re-opened?
    Who am I?
    Who the fuck am I?
    Purple black purple black
    My brain and my heart bruised over and over
    Pieces of myself strewn all over bedroom floors
    Moments encased as memories lost forever
    Entire windows of time misplaced
    Hate myself
    Hate my life
    Hate the pain
    Want no strife
    Again and again I regret and regret
    Never feeling as though they see or want to know my true value
    Understanding that I am nothing but an object
    An idea
    An ideal
    To reach out and pocket
    To scratch into posts
    To etch into records
    I am nothing
    I am nothing
    Tears and sadness sadness and tears
    No more no more
    I wish I could turn back time
    Or maybe I just wish I was someone else
    I wanted to numb the pain
    And forget who I was and why I hurt
    I just wanted to feel something through the ice
    To live on the edge and hope to fall into a safety net
    Where all I know is love and safety
    Secure in an accordance of grace
    Fuck this hurts
    And some things are permanent
    The damage can be temporarily fixed
    But this but this but this
    I cannot believe I was
    I cannot believe I am
    Everything I despise and everything I told myself I would never be
    Save me
    I am a saint
    In a sinner’s body
    Slipping between the lines
    Blurring the boundaries
    But wanting so desperately for order and control
    Help me help me
    I can only see black pitch black
    I can only remember skin and sweat
    I can only be human
    I can only forget and regret and let myself hate itself
    I need to live
    I need that love
    What is this
    I’m so confused
    Everything is foggy
    Everything is pain
    I need clarity and sense again
    Even though it didn’t make sense
    It was good
    It was happy
    Take me back
    Take away this torment.

  19. Reply Anonymous Mar 19,2016 9:18 am

    Purple red and yellow flowers
    Green grass and trees
    Her brown eyes shine in the sun
    Shes beautiful
    Calm summer lights
    The rustling of the branches in the wind
    A warm breeze
    A Kiss
    A blanket on the ground
    I sing a song about you
    And play it on my guitar
    I dont want to wake up
    Her smile is all I think about
    Shes my muse
    Its raining
    We’re laying on the couch
    Windows open
    The sound of the rain is calming
    Shes warm against my body
    Cant help but to think shes more than I deserve
    She isn’t even mine
    Just a dream
    Just a lost memory of somthing that hasn’t even happened and probably never will.
    A bon fire with our friends
    A party
    A star infested sky
    The moon is bright
    You’re happy
    3:00am we’re still talking
    You tell me your dreams and I just listen

  20. Reply YoungGun1626 Apr 1,2016 1:25 pm

    “Tag!! you’re it!”
    we say as small children,
    As we touch tap the main person
    who we want to chase us after us,
    until, they finally catch up
    with us, just so that we can
    chase after them.

    And then the game goes back and forth
    all over again. We only play that game
    when we want each other bad enough.
    And we still do. But sometimes though,
    it’s a combination of tag and hide and go seek.
    we hide, they find, they tag, we tag.
    sound familiar?
    We are the introverted discreet ones who
    are still extroverts. Our introverted selves hide,
    while our extroverted selves, want to be found, and
    tagged as we tag at the same time.
    Sound familiar?
    the games… it’s what we do.

  21. Reply YoungGun1626 Apr 1,2016 1:39 pm

    I am the key to the universe
    I hold the secret knowledge.
    I was made by the very fingers of God.
    I open your mind and your heart, and I speak to you.
    I am the balance which outweighs
    the darkness from the light
    and the evil from the good.
    You have a choice.
    Either let me help you and sedate you,
    and speak to you peacefully, and truthfully,
    and reveal to you the secrets of life, and humble you,
    or let me scare you and wake you up some…
    to humble you… to break you…
    to make you want to work out your own salvation
    even more so.. with fear and much trembling.
    You either are for me, or you are against me.
    You’re either for God, or you’re against Him.
    there’s no in between with me.
    You have a choice.
    You must cling to the light or the darkness.
    I would not have it any other way.
    you either fellowship with me, or you don’t.
    You either blaspheme against God, or you don’t.
    I wouldn’t have it any other way.
    I can help you, if you trust me.
    If you trust God, then you will trust me.
    God made me for you. But if you do not want me to help you,
    then there is no point in having me. I don’t play around.
    I’m here to help you. I am here to stay.
    But if you don’t want me, you don’t like me,
    and you don’t trust me,
    then you’re best to stay away.
    Do you trust in God?
    And if so, you should be able to trust me too.
    God uses me… and I am here for you.

  22. Reply YoungGun1626 Apr 1,2016 2:04 pm

    Yes, I’ve had some
    really good times
    with you

    what can I say…?

    You were my best friend
    with a smile

    you were the sunshine
    to my happiness,

    the yellow to my world

    you were that bright ray
    of fucking sunshine to me
    every single blessed fucking day!

    when we walked down
    the streets together,
    the flowers beside of them and us
    would just be dancin’!

    the sweet fragrance of the summer air,
    would smell almost angelic!

    what can I say…?

    You were the ying to my yang.

    I don’t know what the fuck happened to us, man?
    was I just too head over heals fallen for you,
    that you just couldn’t handle it?!

    I mean you had a
    future and career
    ahead of you…
    I couldn’t stop that!
    I must have been
    just too much for you,
    or somethin’!

    what happened, man? what happened…?

    college happened.

    And then LIFE happened.

    and then time went on.

    and it moves on.. quickly,

    but yet still so slowly, and painfully.

    Just admit it, I had fallen too hard for you,
    and you, (my best friend) couldn’t handle it.

    and I was holdin’ you back.
    I was a distraction, man..
    admit it!

    Too much time has gone by,
    and I’ve don’t a lot of thinkin’!

    but it’s ok though,
    I’ll understand,
    and I can handle the truth.

    I love the true colors,
    the colors could shine as bright,
    just as much as our
    best memories together did then.

    Really man..
    come on
    think about it…
    despite how both of our lives ended up now
    just think that all we really need in the here
    and NOW is CLOSURE..that we never did get.

    Where IS it?!
    I’m still waiting.
    give it to me, please!
    so that we’ll both stop this
    nonsense mess.

  23. Reply Annonymous Apr 12,2016 12:07 am

    Roses are red,
    Voilets are blue,
    The grass is green,
    What do you mean;
    “The grass is green”?
    Snap out of reality,
    Go to that special place.
    Where the grass is pink,
    And the people don’t stink.
    Where there is no fear,
    Its only you here.
    Sure, it gets lonely,
    But that happens slowly.
    I hate to say,
    But you cannot stay,
    Try as you may.
    You must go back,
    Where the roses are red
    And the voilets are blue,
    The grass isn’t pink,
    And the people sure stink.

  24. Reply Cherish Apr 19,2017 9:30 pm

    Tell me it’s okay
    even when I know it’s not
    Tell me you love me
    even if you you don’t
    Tell me it’s a dream
    while you know its a nightmare
    Lie to me Lie to me
    Tell me they are all the same
    even if they arent
    Tell me how they fucked themselves over
    even if you know they fucked me over
    Tell me they are all lies
    while you know they aren’t
    Lie to me Lie to me

  25. Reply Cherish Apr 19,2017 9:36 pm

    She said she was tired
    Did you look in her eyes
    You wanted it to be lack of sleep
    You wanted to believe
    So you didn’t ask
    You didn’t want to know
    you didn’t want to see
    You saw her happiness was fake
    She changed
    Her smile was fake
    Her laugh was forced
    Her clothes were different

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