Holding My Pillows Close.


You know this story is far from over

It's not finished.. By long shot, my love 

Don't tell me you can't do this anymore 

I hope your happy.. And so much lovely 

Your still apart of me.. And still I'm 

nothing but a memory 


You know I want you to hold this cold hand

I know that you can't,Because you have someone else to come and hold you.. 

So I'll keep sleeping sideways in my bed so I, can fill this open space.. 

Because I can't, go on without you..       


I know that I'm by myself I can make it  and don't need you for something that couldn't be.. And fade away in the sun light..                                           

There's nothing special.. About the way you did things.. 


Never coming back.. 

You can't come back..


You know I want you to hold this hand..

I know that you can't Because you have someone else to come and hold you.. 

So I'll keep sleeping sideways in my bed so I, can fill this lonely space.. 

Because I can't, go on without you..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm quite obvious it's more of a song then a poem so.. This is it I'll be posting more but was made me Gabriel Treadwell and all copyrighted. Thank you

Need a Dust Pan


Days are long

Dragging on painfully

Like a belt striking your thighs.


Nights are torture

Filled with darkness and demons

Like a movie playing your fears on repeat.


Thoughts are raven black

Thick as smoke

And billows in like fog.


Heart so broken

She needs a broom and dust pan.

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Instruments of the Passion

She is my queen and I hers,

yet I feel pricked by this thorny crown I so desperately longed for. 

You were nothing but lies.

Baby you helped me up when

I fell down

You held my head up when 

I was drowning

But now your gone

And guess what baby?

I'm falling

And I can't stop

I'm drowning

My head is not coming back up

Baby you made the darkness go away

You were my light


Baby the darkness is coming back


The light is going out

Baby you said you loved me


You kept me going


Baby you were nothing but lies.


So Listen


It hurts your Soul,

Your Mind, Your Body

moveless with heartbreak,

as you try to Understand,

Listen, Remember

your head hurts,

your weeping burns

a hole into your Eyes,

Your Mind, Your Heart

This is true love,

the hearfelt pain

trying to breathe,

but no air getting in-

your throat Closes,

Throbs, Imploads

as the with of death

takes you through

the pain that is - his


But Listen

as time goes on,

on you move,

And find the better

of what life can give-

A New Love

So Listen

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Curse you

just notes*

I silently curse your name thousand times
I can't close my eyes without seeing you with her
Curse you for making me doubt my myself ...
Curse you for wanting her!
I'm angry
I'm mad
I'm sad
I'm disappointed
I'm cursing you
I can't close my eyes without seeing you with her
She's everything I wasn't ...
But I gave you everything ... Without asking for anything
And maybe that's what you wanted ...
I curse you thousand times
And still I can't close my eyes

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The Gorge


What makes us cry? What makes us feel so insecure that we throw ourselves from the worn down path that we trudge in our quest to keep sane and allow ourselves to be thrown into the cavernous hole of hell that is so dark and without meaning that our minds simply shrivel to a structure of most insignificance? It simply can be blamed on the coarse and hostile words that are thrown down like thunderclaps by those that stand on the isolated cliffs above: To which we seek the most of solace from. But to say that the individuals are to be solely blamed is to ignore the high cliffs of comfort that the blamer grants those that fire these heinous slandering's, that grant them immunity from their own words.


We walk a path between oblivion of the mind and the souls destruction, void of a sense of right or wrong to which our pride consumes like a cancer. For many, this road is filled with sharp stones made from our past grief's and the far too ominous memories which seek to hinder us in our pursuit of the happiness that we are often told is but to be had at the posting of a picture or the following of an icon. These jaggered rocks prick into your skin and bled you of all positive blood that your weak veins pitifully pulse in an effort to delude you into thinking it all is but a headache of a former life.


To your left, the words bounce back and forth, playing squash against your skull; causing you to topple backwards, your hands splintering at the pressure that the memories of your downfall and the black abyss is to your right: Its so very tempting to take as a purple black bile oozes from the rocks and takes you to a small peaceful area, an eye in the storm. The shouts and calls become distant as the whisperings take hold of your bleeding ears that no longer want the harsh hardship of the torment that the path presents. You listen to them a'e the screaming of the privileged tell you that your life, so frivolous and lacking in the proper worth to be worthy of happiness, just needs to end. The whisperings argue that life only begins when you cast aside the microbes of possessions and into that unknown that the chasm offers.


On the path, the shouting and screaming stops. The chasm ends its mutterings and leaves you on the floor, your humanity spilling out on the rocks as your eyes and will grow weak. You have two options.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Second poem, hope its alright to read as I know it was good to write it!

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I Am Free

I was a stone, skipping frantically over the water’s surface, only to sink to the unending depths, choking; desperate.

I was a leaf, briefly flashing stunning hue, then tumbling from the tree, slowly swirling to meet the hard, cold ground.

I was the setting sun, incredible beauty, bands of soft and radiant color, only to slip into the horizon, greeting the pitch of night.

I was a bird, soaring the open azure skies, only to be brought down with a violent arrow; overwhelming agony.

I was a rose, fragrant, full of life, breaking out of the bud, but petals soon fall, I crumble.

Never inhaling, loving warmth withheld, fear of the dark, the unknown, unbearable pain, shattered.  I felt, despaired, experienced; yet battled.  I was broken, but yet not…I fought, I rallied, finally breaking the chains that bound; unfettered. 


I am free! 

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Healing Will Come




Healing is harsh.  It scrapes at the soul deeply, agonizing at first.

Healing hurts sometimes.  It sends me places that are barren, abandonded, lonely.

Healing confuses.  Not knowing or understanding, difficulty comprehending.

Healing is forceful.  Pouding painfully against shards of acknowledgement.

Healing is a battle.  Fighting to find the good, piecing together the torn.

Healing is a journey.  Traversing a steep and rough road, seeking level plane.

Healing is unhurried.  Time stands still, remaining in the lonesome darkness.

Healing is hard.  Constant toil, forgiving the unforgiveable.

Healing is necessary.  Finding peace, seeing the light, grateful in the

warmth of my blessings.


Healing will come, in it’s own way, in it’s own time, and will unleash my burdens at last.  

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