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Miles Graves Jul 2021
a stranger wears my face, but with less decay;
in the distance, hidden in the summer’s maize
I see an imposter that answers to my name,
and in rapture he watches as the yellow rots away.
A decade ago, I recall the same.

in the distance, a stranger who seems closer today -
idly, I wonder why I’m walking his way.
Poetic T Apr 2017
Silken skin verses the mobility of
static agitation, it sways like a lullaby
before there contemplation  guiding them
to the slow asphyxiation of innocence.

They sway hypnotic, like a chime of
footsteps yet to be trod upon. But we
focus I'm mirages of what we gander upon,
A swing of past memories to hang on.

Were diluted within an impression that we
linger on. Our dreams are motionless when
we collect as nourishment for the unmoved
earth beneath our dreams.

"We swayed in the imagining of reality,
*"Till our dreams decayed like fallen petals.
Poetic T May 2016
Sinister expectations were delivered in charcoal
script, it had coalesced in a quagmire of words
on the page. My thought lingered in onyx vapour.

Nightfall awakens my deranged scribing's, I hear the
voices crawling inside my veins controlling my fingers
progressions. Pretty little obscurity in my thoughts.

Midnight opens irrational rantings, I syringe the
bleeding ink that haemorrhage's from my pores.
Decayed ink frayed on the sides, my darkness in words.
A series of 3 this is darkness there is also, Depression,  Pain all about inking out thoughts
Poetic T May 2016
Eyes rose tinted delusions that stem on the everyday,
liquid figments smile on her minds exhaling breath
of what is contaminated texts of what her sight read.

She digs in the garden to bury her pain, the leafs are
falling on her memory as she fills in the graves of so
many that were never real just empty caskets of thought.

Her world was of roses that sat on the window fresh
with eager pleasing to the eye. But it was withered and
decayed as were her expectations of mundane  life.

She was temptation upon her self, lingering on past
appearances that had faded like seasons. Hers was that
time when everything wilted, denial tinted in eyes everyday.
Lynda Kerby Apr 2015
i find myself agonizing about how my son
or rather his physical blood skin organs and bones
have decayed
into apparent nothingness

— The End —