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had I a wound for every bitter word, I'd be drenched in blood by eight o'clock because you don't let up you never let it go the only way I ever heal is by getting the hell away from here I'll scream back at you but only because I don't know what else to do... as you twist me into this hideous creature that I never meant to be tears could numb the pain and release it but it's too bloody late to cry; I've already swallowed your poison so don't try- just don't even bother - to apologize or feel any remorse, because it wouldn't save me. every day I find myself fighting for my life the only way to feel safe is to get the hell away from here. |
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in the room of my heart firelight makes shadows dance wide awake I move slowly as though I am dreaming remaining still lest you dart past my hands a frightened minnow in soft darkness the city lights your face eyes finding my own breathing upon embers with this flame upon the hearth the room is warm and safe with you inside my heart my mind is a different place I fall asleep with your smile on my lips slowly as though dreaming within a dream. |
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Mood: beginning to notice that I use fish as imagery in a lot of poems. inspiration: last night. |
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typeface begins to swim upon the page words dance and re-arrange before my eyes incomprehensible can't follow bright lights pinwheel like a carnival dragging a jackhammer through my thoughts scattering thunder begins in complement to the lightning inside my skull spinning and twisting ad nauseum constant pounding drives away any rational thought thudding and crashing throbbing blinding me spinning and everything stops. |
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why do we insist upon drawing lines in the sand? looking at a photograph of the earth, I find myself expecting to see borders and dividers superimposed upon its surface. what for? do you mean to tell me that the wonders of this planet can be withheld? am I to believe that I cannot go anywhere I please? |
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a dime-sized star burns a hole through the clear day in the shade, the voices of silence are not so far below the surface the murmur of the road distant a breeze ripples the stillness the leaves whisper another day like any of sixteen summers that I have seen just a day like any other and like any other, I'm thinking of you. awake, aware of the passing of time that dime-sized sun counting sand grains left in my hourglass another blur of light and sound today is yet another day like any of sixteen summers I have lived here just one day; and like any other, I would choose to be no place but here. |