Another dark, severing, incommunicable night.
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The easy way: get to know him better. Two-headed, inescapable anguish! She took you the way a woman takes a bargain dress off the rack and I broke the way a stone breaks. They unbutton blouses.
Vincent Millay. I feel horrible. I am not sick, I am not well.
I'll just be the bitter woman in the corner, reading my portable Dorothy Parker, because there's nothing like a good old fashioned anti-love poem to get you through Valentine's Day alive. I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
By keith survell
My quondam dreams are shot to hell. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. Love is OK, if a bit over-exposed. At night, alone, I marry the bed. Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I hate my legs, I hate my hands, I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
For what I think, I'd be arrested. That's beautiful. There are a hundred places where I fear To go,—so with his memory they brim. I want my friends to heal me, succor me.
Rather, these poems are the antidote to all the sappy love poetry out there. I dread the dawn's recurrent light; I hate to go to bed at night. I mean, look, if you're excited about drug store chocolates and artificial bears and exchanging lies with the person you love, that's nice.
Cheeky jokes and poems for valentine’s day
I find no peace in paint or type. Strephon, your breach of faith and trust Affords me no surprise; A man who grateful was, or just, Might make my wonder rise.
You are a laconic marksman. They are overfed.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore; I do not like me any more. Enjoy that heart-shaped balloon that briefly allows you to forget about your own mortality. They are eating each other. The boys and girls are one tonight.
Comments from the archive
They turn off the light. You are mystical, Ghalib, and, also, you speak beautifully. Because, sure, sappy poems and songs and declarations of love on Instagram are all well and good when you're in a sappy poem So here are a few poems for the recently heartbroken, the Valentine haters, and valentine else who is fed up with roses and hearts and babies with wings someone take those arrows away from that baby, babies shouldn't play with arrows.
I do not like my state of mind; I'm bitter, querulous, unkind. I give back your books and fishing tack. By Charlotte Ahlin. I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse. Knowing you are faithless keeps me alive and hungry. I shudder at the thought of men I'm due to fall in love again. You ask me for a fuck about love in place of a wedding present, trying to save me money.
Well, Carmen, I would rather give you your third set of steak knives than tell you what I know. I snoot at simple, earnest folk. I cannot take the gentlest day. I won't take that away from you. Today's paper says that you are wed. They take off shoes. My world is but a lot of tripe.
To be clear, an "anti-love poem" is not necessarily against love as a concept. I ponder on the narrow house. Maybe it's my recent break up, or the ongoing collapse of Western democracy, but I'm just not that into Valentine's Day this year. They unzip flies. See All Health Relationships Self.
Do not remember me as disaster nor as the keeper of secrets I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars watching you move slowly out of my bed saying we cannot waste time only ourselves. You fit into me like a hook into an eye a fish hook an open eye.