Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.

Add comment   Close
Jordan Newman Jordan Newman
Recommendations: 15

at best, i can forget her laughter; but not all together can i forget the sound of her voice

Share this writing

Link to this writing

Start Writing

More from Jordan Newman

i see angels above me, i see demons below me, fighting over heaven.
i loved her more when i was sober.
i don't want a second chance.
love starts with that of a flickerin' cigarette
i swear i could feel your love before i knew your name.

More Poetry

Deborah Boydston Deborah Boydston
Recommendations: 45
Murder in the Senseless
Leoni Carlson Leoni Carlson
Recommendations: 12
Aaron Greene Aaron Greene
Recommendations: 30
Author's Clog
Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
Recommendations: 23
Kitchera Hicks Kitchera Hicks
Recommendations: 11
soul mates


I'm so exhausted I feel as empty as the flask
hidden in my pocket and it's barely even dusk.
My phone keeps on beeping from all the texts
I'm recieving and the GPS circle has the looks
of an 'X,' revealing happiness within its mark.

I hurry with reluctance to catch a bus
because I'm already late by a few hours;
for the party being given by a friend of ours.
As my feet stomp the sidewalk, voices
pound inside my head, telling me to cease
with my mission, they remind me of the worse
case scenarios; but I know it's all nonsense.

It's nearly midnight once I reach my destination
and discover the decorations to be done to perfection.
Friends and strangers dance around in off-beat unison
to the bad music coming out of speakers old & blown.
The scent of wasted youth seems to fix my depression,
well that and my clearly intoxicated summers fling
look of immaculate conception, the way her make-ups' done
has me feeling as if I cannot breathe, I'm coughing & choking
from the mere thought of her and I later on this evening.
She kisses me hello and greets me with honest affection
and before I can respond, she is off into the crowd again.
Occasionally I see a flash go off somewhere in the distance
and I know it's her camera taking a photograph of someone.

It's now nearly dawn as we lay in my bed, curled up quite cozy
but still I can't sleep, although next to me she snores quietly.
I have fears of the morning, knowing my memory to be quite hazy-
the only thing I know for certain is that my ambition to be somebody
is hindered badly by my inability to follow through and actually
accomplish anything I set out to do; and some may say I'm lazy
but the truth is that I'm just torn up badly and broken completely.
As long as I recall inside my soul burns from the touch of misery.

I try and try to close my eyes and get an hour or two of slumber
but my brain refuses my request to sleep; but it's for the better,
due to the fact that my dreams always come on to me so damn bitter.


I hammer down so violently on these keys
and silently wish for a piano to be what's
laying beneath my tired and sore fingers.
From the speed I type, to my trained ears,
a rhythm does form a melody or so it appears.
I long to be anything other than what it is
that I am, a lonely poet whining through words.
At least if I was a musician I'd recieve praises
for my work as opposed to the tearful stares.
The silence that follows from revealing new pieces
is almost too painful to bare, it just takes & takes
from me something that is something I cannot replace.

What I wouldn't give though, for me to be simply free
of the apathy that has over come all I am able to see.
There is torture in being an artist, espically a writer;
and that is as true as anything I have known, my dear.
With all this evidence in plain sight, it's hard for me
to imagine some sort of happiness in my approaching future.
Hell, thinking of tomorrow seems to fill me with dreadful fear.

Link to this writing

Share this writing

Jordan Newman's website:

Next: Walking Away