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a-setting-moon
a-setting-moon
American
And there you were On my birthday of all days. Sitting there, as if you were waiting for me to make the first move Placed in my line of sight as if you were made for me. You, looking all tempestuous and such. And I, a person of virtue, a person who prides himself to resist. But not on this night. Placed under a spell you cast upon my mind. Devine intervention would have to occur as I was then, blinded, tied up, Only to be under your control. Handcuffing me, to be sickened by the thought of the next day. I know I should have known better, but my eyes would deceive me that evening. I thought, I had you wrapped around my finger like a yoyo, But instead, you turned into a chinese finger trap, Gripping me to reality of what would soon hit me like a ton of bricks. That night, you ordered me a screwdriver, and then another, then another and so on only to drive the ***** directly through my judgement. The next morning though, when I woke, I realized, I must have been wearing my beer goggles, Because, there you were and you were not who I thought you were. You were in fact A kind of a What the **** Kind of **** you made me sick, Kind of Why did I ever take you home with me, Kind of A hang over.
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Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
A Perfect Storm
3/2/13 my greatest love I loved the way, you looked at me, Telling me things, I didn’t want to hear. I fell apart, a shattered heart now surrounds my feet. Every step hurts, but I’ve got to move forward. I’ve got ta take a stand. I’ve got to turn the page, to the next chapter. So, I read alone these recent nights, My sleeping habits have changed and this bed feels emptier No matter how many times I change the sheets, I still smell you. I still smell the scent of your entire body, from top to bottom. And I try to remember what it’s like to breath, because the sheets that once held us together, now suffocate me. You made me forget everything I don’t want to remember. In this bed, where we made violins cry. We made wine glasses disappear, We left the do not disturb sign hang on my door for way too long because, we forgot to remove it. The imprint of you is something I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to remove. Or I don’t want to. Or I want to want to remember what it’s like to be held in the arms of a lover In the mind of tambourine, We shook the core until our symbols connected. On more than one level we loved our demons And threw our god to the casket. Let our devil devour us. Let the lust take over and lose ourselves to the night. To the next day, To the mornings where we woke up and we never left my bed. To feel the touch, of your body, I still smell you. I smell the nights when we would laugh in silence, Remembering the first time we made out. Having your lips pull at mine, Turning the key to my car, So I can get you back, as quickly as possible, to the bed Where I don’t have to take painful steps, And I can fall apart, right back into your arms.
0
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Healing and Broken
3/2/13 my greatest love I loved the way, you looked at me, Telling me things, I didn’t want to hear. I fell apart, a shattered heart now surrounds my feet. Every step hurts, but I’ve got to move forward. I’ve got ta take a stand. I’ve got to turn the page, to the next chapter. So, I read alone these recent nights, My sleeping habits have changed and this bed feels emptier No matter how many times I change the sheets, I still smell you. I still smell the scent of your entire body, from top to bottom. And I try to remember what it’s like to breath, because the sheets that once held us together, now suffocate me. You made me forget everything I don’t want to remember. In this bed, where we made violins cry. We made wine glasses disappear, We left the do not disturb sign hang on my door for way too long because, we forgot to remove it. The imprint of you is something I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to remove. Or I don’t want to. Or I want to want to remember what it’s like to be held in the arms of a lover In the mind of tambourine, We shook the core until our symbols connected. On more than one level we loved our demons And threw our god to the casket. Let our devil devour us. Let the lust take over and lose ourselves to the night. To the next day, To the mornings where we woke up and we never left my bed. To feel the touch, of your body, I still smell you. I smell the nights when we would laugh in silence, Remembering the first time we made out. Having your lips pull at mine, Turning the key to my car, So I can get you back, as quickly as possible, to the bed Where I don’t have to take painful steps, And I can fall apart, right back into your arms.
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36
Corey Sobe It's not that easy being a Zombie Having to spend each day, in search for brains When I think it could be much nicer being human or a cat or a dog Or something much more lively like that It's not that easy being a Zombie It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things And people tend to pass you over cause you're Not standing out like flashy pimps on the streets Or prostitutes in the cars But Zombies are a lively bunch and Zombies can be cool and friendly-like And Zombies can be big like a riot, or important Like a team, or tall like a human When Zombies are all there is to be It could make you wonder, but why wonder why Wonder, I am a Zombie and it'll do fine, it's beautiful And I think it's what I want to be
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Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
Being Zombie
My lungs travel like a carrier pigeon. They carry an important message One which cannot be expressed One that makes me, want to rip right at the seams It makes me want to rip the threads even greater Like that night when I tore off your clothing Completely disregarding the fabric I traveled downwards Down the spine of your back Ripping directly through the fabric of your skin. I crawled Towards an unknown destination Placing my hands in the mind of your body Your body would became mine As we intertwined, and unwind, And opened up our minds, To the idea of reincarnation, Where I remembered I used to mine, As I looked for the entrance, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Even in the darkest of times, I became blind, So I used my hands As I soon realized it was time to sink or swim I floated back to the top Crawling across the curves of your body I swam across to your heart, Then your mind, And then your soul And that’s when I realized, Your heart had a gaping hole, So I once again, believed in reincarnation, of a past life That now I see Was meant to tell of a future story, With an unknown ending A fairytale, untold and unwritten, Foretold only by our past lives, Brought back together again From the depths of our souls, And every generation I find the threads And am somehow able to always Seam us back together again
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Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
The Time Traveler
I want to get this out my chest I want to get this off my soul, I want to fill that hole you left. When you left me there, sitting at the table I was blind. See, Blind is how you left me feeling Throwing out my feelings like garbage Leaving me feeling empty inside, as you turned my heart inside out. It tore into brittle pieces when you left me, sitting there that morning. Leaving my door wide open behind you. As you walked away from the breakfast table, You left me there feeling like egg shells, When you slowly poured my feelings, like yolk into the frying pan, Just so I could make you happy. Just so I could see the corners of your mouth turn into a bowl Because as your breakfast, I wanted to be the most important meal of the day I wanted to know that you were full and content, Without feeling any emptiness inside And I wanted you to know, that you could always butter my bread There was nothing left to say though Because at an empty table Staring at an empty seat Was an empty memory, Which used to turn my heart into heat An empty future now lay in my sight A future I no longer wish to think about As I sit there at the breakfast table. And now, Everything is backwards, Every breakfast I cook becomes burnt. Every time, I’ll burn my hands when I look towards, where you used to sit at Every time, I hear the crackling of eggs Every time, I hear the gun shot that blew through my heart, When the knocking of hands were trying to grab my attention. All that grabbed my attention were the colors of blue and white. And at first, I was puzzled, until I saw their ghostly faces, and no words were needed to be said, as I knew what they were there to tell me. They were there to tell me. No more breakfasts, would need to be made. No more laughter, was there to be had. No new memories, were to be filled by your smile And as they stood there patiently waiting, for my brain to react, To the news of what had happened. I suddenly lost the will to stand as dropped to my knees. And I realized, No more mornings, were to be had, at the breakfast table.
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Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
The Most Important Meal of the Day
I want to get this out my chest I want to get this off my soul, I want to fill that hole you left. When you left me there, sitting at the table I was blind. See, Blind is how you left me feeling Throwing out my feelings like garbage Leaving me feeling empty inside, as you turned my heart inside out. It tore into brittle pieces when you left me, sitting there that morning. Leaving my door wide open behind you. As you walked away from the breakfast table, You left me there feeling like egg shells, When you slowly poured my feelings, like yolk into the frying pan, Just so I could make you happy. Just so I could see the corners of your mouth turn into a bowl Because as your breakfast, I wanted to be the most important meal of the day I wanted to know that you were full and content, Without feeling any emptiness inside And I wanted you to know, that you could always butter my bread There was nothing left to say though Because at an empty table Staring at an empty seat Was an empty memory, Which used to turn my heart into heat An empty future now lay in my sight A future I no longer wish to think about As I sit there at the breakfast table. And now, Everything is backwards, Every breakfast I cook becomes burnt. Every time, I’ll burn my hands when I look towards, where you used to sit at Every time, I hear the crackling of eggs Every time, I hear the gun shot that blew through my heart, When the knocking of hands were trying to grab my attention. All that grabbed my attention were the colors of blue and white. And at first, I was puzzled, until I saw their ghostly faces, and no words were needed to be said, as I knew what they were there to tell me. They were there to tell me. No more breakfasts, would need to be made. No more laughter, was there to be had. No new memories, were to be filled by your smile And as they stood there patiently waiting, for my brain to react, To the news of what had happened. I suddenly lost the will to stand as dropped to my knees. And I realized, No more mornings, were to be had, at the breakfast table.
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46
You, make my skin tremble, like a tidal wave, Tossing my goosebumps off their course, They were traveling down my spine Heading south for the winter, Until you made them wash ashore. Making them wash their souls, They cleaned up their act As they prepared for the performance of a lifetime They shaped up You made them get in line. Into the shape of a V As they only had one direction to go Direct as an arrow They poured through my bones My heart couldn’t handle all these emotions So it died with these words Ones that I carry on my back. Words, I’ll carry to my grave, Buried deep beneath my skin It breathes life them into them Taking heavy breathes Of a heavy heart That sleeps only when its doors are closed. Out of a deep hibernation, they awaken. I’ve forgotten they even existed. You must have clipped their wings, So they learned how to swim. Traveling in the only direction they know Heading up the river Knowing that going upstream Is a hard road to travel Gravity defies them Pulling them beneath a layer of sweat They drown in an ocean Where tidal waves are forever about
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Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC
The Blinking Clock