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Little-star
From where I live, / a hive mind is like a dark night, / a line aligned to judge the different; / the interests entered is in money form, / and conforming to conformity is normality. / From where I live, / a hive mind is like a dark night; / but a live-wire is alive at the sizzling / of different sounds and sights. / From where I live: / I have fallen in love countless times, / under the ashes spewed of volcano eruptions; / from where I love: / the darkest shadows touch all but my heart. / - Gregory Dun Aer / / / ©Gregory Dun Aer 2017 / All written works are right reserved.
Maybe it's the fact that you're there and I'm here. Maybe the year hasn't been too kind on my heart, or maybe I'm hoping we could start again. Pick off from where we last left, as if we walked back into an old video game, we would revisit. I miss it. The arguments, the tension, the kisses, the ever so loving way you kept the memories we shared. The kisses we missed are the ones that break my heart. People tell me not to look back, there's no future in the past. I've outlasted loneliness for too long is what i tell them. Because it is not often, that people get to meet.....You.
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Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
Maybe
I don't know where to begin, last time I looked you were here. Now near feels so far and the stars seem so dull. I let myself push and pull for way too long, left my heart available, just for you to break. Now I watch it all melt away, our love... like Ice in my hand. Vanishing. Slowly. But surely.
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Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 12:14 AM UTC
Ice In My Hand
We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven, when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell. We played an endless game of nicky nicky nine doors, because the floors were lava and we had no where else to go. Too little hiding and too little seeking to find what we wanted, or to even run away from what we truly honoured. We played games like children playing breaking bricks, trying to break traditions set by parents from years earlier. We chose to play a 'til we die' game called arranged marriage, because operation made for a better game than abortion, and it's all distorted marketing; trying to sell parkinsons- to veterans with medicine prices sky rocketing. We lived in a time where playing cops and robbers meant playing tax offices trying to honour tax on coffins. Take the heinous nature of human and discount it forward, we are not all as evil as we seem, but we still play jump rope with the sensitive lines hidden behind media's eyes, we play jump rope with politics because it was always fun- to lunge up the ladder in a game of snakes and ladders. We all played at monogamy like it was a game of monopoly, constantly competing for marriage like it was Mayfair on the board. We've boarded on a train of imagination with fetishes and kinks, trying to rethink what the ordinary could never provide, and I admit, i lost in the game called tinder but I don't lose sleep knowing I haven't matched with someone who swiped right. We built campfire out of torches because there's still a light in the horse **** we go through on a daily basis, and we hold our tragic faces trying to compete with the sob stories of modern day Romeo and juliet's because what's best is beyond us. So I tire of playing Simon Says when I know quite well that we play duck duck goose with bullets and guns hoping the fun doesn't reach us too soon because there's still some fun in funeral. We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven, when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell.
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Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 11:34 PM UTC
Seven Minutes In Heaven
We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven, when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell. We played an endless game of nicky nicky nine doors, because the floors were lava and we had no where else to go. Too little hiding and too little seeking to find what we wanted, or to even run away from what we truly honoured. We played games like children playing breaking bricks, trying to break traditions set by parents from years earlier. We chose to play a 'til we die' game called arranged marriage, because operation made for a better game than abortion, and it's all distorted marketing; trying to sell parkinsons- to veterans with medicine prices sky rocketing. We lived in a time where playing cops and robbers meant playing tax offices trying to honour tax on coffins. Take the heinous nature of human and discount it forward, we are not all as evil as we seem, but we still play jump rope with the sensitive lines hidden behind media's eyes, we play jump rope with politics because it was always fun- to lunge up the ladder in a game of snakes and ladders. We all played at monogamy like it was a game of monopoly, constantly competing for marriage like it was Mayfair on the board. We've boarded on a train of imagination with fetishes and kinks, trying to rethink what the ordinary could never provide, and I admit, i lost in the game called tinder but I don't lose sleep knowing I haven't matched with someone who swiped right. We built campfire out of torches because there's still a light in the horse **** we go through on a daily basis, and we hold our tragic faces trying to compete with the sob stories of modern day Romeo and juliet's because what's best is beyond us. So I tire of playing Simon Says when I know quite well that we play duck duck goose with bullets and guns hoping the fun doesn't reach us too soon because there's still some fun in funeral. We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven, when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell.
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The camera is focused on me, one second dramas all around, spotlight bounded but not an eternal glory to suffer from, suffering on with a struggling song in the ambience, but the spotlight dies down, faded to black, the focus is gone, the lenses have vanished and lost in three two one. The spotlight points to centre stage, you're afraid that it's you- but you look across and it's someone else, not a mirror image, not even a mimic, this is your finish. The crows are cheering, chanting but steering away from your name, and you wear the stain of their success; the fans are gone, the ambient struggling song, is a party tune; dedicated elsewhere. You look around- you are no longer the main character, you are just an extra, walking along... The scene closes, you are just staring at the cameras; directed away from you.
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Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
Faded Show.
I'm an impractical ****** that means I'm not even practicing, and by that I mean- life ***** me constant. I take it like it is part of my medicine, one mess I'm in to the next mess again, this aspirin inspires me to live, telling me the world has a God and the man subtly looks at me slowly gesturing a nod; I'm an impractical ****** by birth, by blood, it's constant.
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Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
Impractical ******
There's a sinking feeling in my chest, I'm guessing it's stress but it's present, I feel forever less than what I've felt before, maybe the door to what I feel is locked. There's a sinking feeling in my chest, bless my little heart for thinking I'm one rest away from becoming stronger. So I no longer hold my head down, I hold it sideways, thinking Friday, of six months ago was the last day, that I was happy. I've lost purposes, senseless hurt- I bear into my mind, maybe I'll find what I'm looking for, when I look beyond the door of my best friend. Let the candle wax and wane, as I find fire within the pain- and enkindle warmth from nothing.
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Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
Fire
Say you'll see me again, even if it's just in dreams, fill me in for when you do, because I'm missing you. Say there's another time, that we'll cross paths, even if it's in darkness, even if we're not partners. Make my heart skip a beat, because that's what it does- So say you'll see me again, even if you just want revenge. I miss the girl who lit my world, I miss you Megan, so much, please say you'll see me again, even if none of it makes sense. Maybe this pain I'm feeling, Is the healing realisation I so desperately need to learn because there is no love without loss.
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Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
Miss You London Girl
There's no inclination for you to feel anything for me, but sadly truth is I'm struggling. I've been tugging onto tissues hoping my tears will stop waging war on my cheeks. Did you know, I didn't sleep? I haven't slept since I said goodbye, ok maybe that's a lie- maybe an hour here or there but enough for me to hope to dream of you; but I don't, it's ripping me up London girl, I'm one step of a ledge I've never been on, never knew it'll take this long to jump, and I've never known it to hurt this much. I know you don't need to care, but tonight and last night, I've been dreaming of you ... Back here....Back there... Back to square one....with me. Silly dreams, I know. My medic is no where to be seen, and I'm one day further from her. My medic is no where to be seen, and tonight I won't sleep again.
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Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
Call Me A Medic.
So if it takes four years to forget me, remember that definitely is just a word we assign to things we think will never end. So if you play pretend, befriend a soldier, remember that my shoulder is open. An unlocked box holding up rocks waiting, training, continuously changing; for you. So if it takes four years to forget me, remember that we live in a world where artists curl ears to snip it straighter, forget the patience it took before that cut, forget the other stuff that cause the pain and all we see is a painting. The stained page of a life lost to being caged in with nothing. We are all fighting our own demons, and I'm glad you ran from mine- I'll fight the confines of my cage waiting, the patience I feel in my soul weakening, and each hit I'm dealt seeps in further. Bruised and blue I remember you, the starry nights won't pay justice to me, and I ask not a leprechaun for change because all he'll offer me is a pen and ink pushing me to rethink and in rethinking, I'm thinking I miss you, I'm knowing I do, and saying sorry hurts a little less, because it's like a blessing to my pettiness, I've dug my grave so let me bury in it. London girl, this heartbreak is my own fault, hold your head high and cherish your rides, Carry my story as just "another man you met".
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Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 6:15 AM UTC
London Girl
If you're looking for reasons to hate yourself, don't help the demons win your battles. They say cattles don't bleat like sheep, and I guess there's a green for every tree, but when it comes down to it- you- You're human and a beautiful one at that. I know I remind you almost always about it, but I just wanted you to never doubt it, because clouded sky mostly leads to storms and bub you shouldn't be torn into thunders, sold like lightning onto tin roof. You are amazing like the crew you carry around you, and I am forever grateful to have known you. Beautiful girl, don't give up, hold what love you can and trust me when I tell you, you'll find an amazing man to hold that love too.
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Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 5:55 AM UTC
From Westham In Smiles