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Kewayne Wadley Feb 2018
I have done everything in my power to become detached from the world.
Reassuring my decision every time I stare into your eyes.
My means of survival solely in the revival of your lips.
The light a reminder of the shadows that lay.
The past tense of habits no longer existing.
Thus-kissing you has become my favorite habit.
The more gently we treat each other,
The further and further away I become.
Throwing caution to the wind when it comes to you, each other-me.
It is through this perspective that I have learned to scream.
Scream every time it comes to you, scream when ever I feel this emotion rise.
This need to let you know that I am alive with each and every chance presented.
You being the cup that overflows each time.
Spilling all over my hands, my shirt, my mouth.
Traveling to a special place in my heart.
The horizon of a new atmosphere.
All of you in liquid form. Becoming a part of me.
And when you spill we both become terrified.
But not because you searched for me when at my lowest.
But because we were attached.
We were terrified.
Terrified in the sense that we trust each other with such sentiment.
The nature of what makes us, us.
Exploration the space around with loving eyes.
Our vessel made of tin.
The merge of planets happening inside of us.
Defying the means of gravity.
New galaxies lit by the sun.
The sun light of your smile.
Everything that happens within coming to light.
I have done everything in my power to become detached from the world.
Ignoring programs and other satellites.
Deliberately floating away in your eyes.
Detached from what was taught as the unknown.
New beginning
mint Dec 2017
I don’t remember how it went anymore
I was too caught up in the emotions to notice when it fell apart
It wasn’t until there was thread spilling over my hands and onto my feet that i realized that none of it was keeping us together anymore
mmmmm how sad all I remember are things going really well and things going really badly.... where was the in between?
Colm Jun 2017
Where does the desire come from?
To send someone words on a paper screen?
Where does the inkwell saturate, and settle deep?
Mixing until you’re your dammed up thoughts
Break loose and spill out onto the ground
Flooding the valley at hand below
For when you spill yourself onto a page
You need to be comfortable with the mess you’ll create
It’s inevitable
But why should you worry about that anyway?*
I mean it, I say this with a laugh but…
Does any of this matter anyway?
Why should you withhold and hold back?

The rushing words
The kind which actually meant to be swept away
How to write with Sean - You just write until you are. And then one day you realize that you've always been to a certain degree. And forever will be. You! (:
There is an ache in my hands
an itch in my brain
the fluid is flowing
round and round
faster and faster to a sudden stop
and it all come slipping and crashing out of the sides
a mess everywhere
nobody is here to clean it up or pick up the pieces
go on
simple random thoughts coming to my mind spontaneously some how to try and make this poem make sense... it doesn't

— The End —