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aphasia
aphasia
I’m not selling lies to Satanists like canned goods during Judgment day, or trying to convert an infidel devoted to non-believing, I don’t steal children from cradles to sacrifice on my alter of clay, or curse, or hex, or put bad juju on priests and nuns appeasing their beliefs, I’ve fed the hungry in Christian institutes and I’ve chatted with Latter-Day-Saints, I’ve never said someone was going to hell because they didn’t bless me the right way, I’ve found a truth in my own heart and I find it to be self-evident – without taint That I can believe in whatever I want no matter what you do or say, Don’t call me unholy – I pray more than most Just not to your God
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Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
Not Your God
What do you see in my wire veins Nothing more than smoke and refrain from the awful need to feel a drug pumping in my brain, I’m all broken limbs and broken words Trying to speak to you some lovely verse as I am shipped away in a hearse, I always said I’d get here first Dead and dead And redefined: Me: noun., forever wrong, wonder-less, wander-less, lacking plot - But amorous
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Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
Me: noun. -
Sands near the sea Fill my mind Like beaches While storms tear Through my happiness And destroy my smile Until there is nothing But sand and seashells Near waves in my eyes
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Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
sand and seashells
Perhaps I'm not meant to be a tree: for when I grow tall they cut me down- Instead I'll be a **** the tallest **** around ~
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Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Dandelion
I’ve never dreamt of flying - floating, falling feathers: A [disembodied] flight over far reaching [yellow] sun flower fields ~
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Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Untitled
There’s still moments when I hear you talking, walking away from me - stiff backed, strong willed, Flashes of glances of brown eyes crinkled up in laughter at a joke - you don’t laugh at my bad jokes anymore, And I tried not to read your Facebook statuses, or watch you across the room, I tried not to remember your poetry, or the way you always believe in yourself, I tried not to remember what being your friend was like, being more than friends, I tried not to remember any time I spent with you, or time spent with my mind on you, I ignored your presence, your breath and steps until you were nothing but a name on someone else’s tongue, an image on the inside of my eyelids, a ringing in my ears, you leaked away from the days and out of my life
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Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Forgetting
I am breathing water through my skin - Thirsty living sponge absorbing thought bubble exhales Inhaled opinion torrents against the current of mental oceans flowing through the river of my [self-creation], Liquefied individual seas filing the space of bone, blood, ***** Fleshy container of moon-tide movings, white capped vocal waves splashing into the port of ears, Smashing boardwalk, tropic landmasses opposing progression of this internal flooding, There was no Arc for my [air self], two-legged, old self, I am irrigated in washing lake water, fresh stream sweat beading on the lip of prayers to old goddesses, crying melting glacier eyes, transformed – reformed further informed, [simple oasis pond] in the [desert] everything ~
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Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
[desert]
I call her Chanel - because she covers up the stench of her rotting morality with that iconic perfume of beauty, Her internal ethnicity is of wrinkles, and rough skin, and canines hard like diamonds - ones that tear up the futures of her stargazers with ****** nips and snippets behind their backs, Like truths written on paper that she hates to read - she tears them up into shreds so miniscule they could never be stitched back together, Then she smiles as she strides past with that aroma wafting from her in agonizing waves like an ocean of failure pelting her hypnotized admirers from miles away, Though she’s miamed their images with rumours and amputated their hopes with lies she is to them this kind of idol set up on a pedestal of severed limbs painted gold, They see a saviour while I see a snake cloaked in an aura of No 1
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Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
Chanel