My Secret Apartment

By Tyler Kisner

The poems in this book don't cover one specific genre; they cover almost every human emotion tangible on this planet. My emotions have fueled every pen scratch, and every low point you come across. My poems are my soul, and they are what keep me sane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483659114

Tyler Kisner

Author Biography:(He was) Born in Independence, Missouri in 1994; (His)My Parents got divorced at 7, but both are still a big part of my life. All (his)of my(his) poems aren't really about a certain person, but just about my(his) experiences. (He)I like to project my feelings into visuals so anyone and everyone can pick up on what I'm(he's) feeling at that time. I (He) am (is) going to culinary school and hope to one day own my(his own) restaurant. He is currently 19 years old, and is living happily in Kansas City.

Book preview

Athazagoraphobia

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What’s it like to be away from the person you love?

Is it like all of the shadows around you room are descending upon you?

Is it like the fog that covers the city streets after a downpour?

Is it the howling wind on a black night?

Do you feel the sheets scratch at your skin?

Do you feel the sting of the loneliness wasp;

Aching to make your night worse?

Do you see the moonlight drift through your windowpane, stifling any hopes of return?

Can you feel the ocean of relief flood over your levees when you hear that garage door open?

Do you feel the warming embrace of a repaired heart when you wrap them in your arms?

Do you recollect the teary-eyed thoughts that spill out through every crevice?

Darling, I’ve been away from you, for far too long.

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Crickets

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There’s a cricket outside your window and it needs to shut up.

Your pillow is calling for you darling;

It aches for your beautiful face to breathe it in as you slip off into nothingness.

The blankets are pulling at the sheets anticipating your arrival.

That cricket is still going, but it sounds closer.

The moonlight screams for you to close your eyes and have your mind wander.

Just as your thoughts escape you, the clouds explode into watery torrents that bombard the house.

Your fan chopping the air, resembling a skilled butcher.

That damn cricket woke you up.

The music flowing out of your headphones lulls you back into comfort.

But I don’t want you to go to sleep; well, at least not without me there taking the place of your pillow.

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Don’t forget me

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Sweetheart, why is there darkness in your eyes?

Why has your heart turned into a prison, only letting hate, and rejection flow through?

Please tell me why I’m eyeing you from a distance, watching you collapse