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blaine-genson
blaine-genson
fails to grab me and keep hold of me the way he does
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Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Bad Poetry
I will ask, but I dare not speak; for to hear my own words would break me. Where I cannot go I send my heart; and in those places he finds not what the soul seeks. As the lofty dreamer leaps out into the grey hazed dusk I call after him; to cry out for his safe return. Treading the black waters of the devil's sea called resentment, he spites me as the tow drags him down. If ever he should return, another request like this I will not make. Treasure unfound is not worth the loss of the heart. I must ask, and be shattered by my plea.
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Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
At the end of things, forgiveness from the heart
both heaven and hell surround me coexisting in my kingdom the throne sits full of false idols and imagined gods the true king bows down or runs from his own authority i blindly pray to him and make offering he is indecisive and insincere unknowing and powerless for all his shortcomings there still is not one more fit to lead
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Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
my holiness
in the end it comes down to wasted time long nights sweet whispers soft lips it all comes down stop throwing logs in and the fire might go out
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Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
as the flames lick your flesh
he is many things a musical writer on a self loathing train to nowhere and though it may have crossed his mind he did not wish to die but rather he wished to live forever and his greatest fault was that he thought he could and among the space between sleep and wakefulness he envisioned a happy day he knew would come and even if it did not he would still rise the next morning to meet the day with enthusiasm some days it is all he has though to write it down
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Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
his head rests upon the cold desk
even a dull razor cuts but a wet match won't light the birds will return in the spring and be gone by october the point is we all want to be understood but poets muddy the water with beautiful but needless metaphors maybe it is difficult to see what i mean maybe i like it that way never heard are the loudest screams
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Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
dull
too eager you say i feel something not knowing what your lines might read i've made my exit but the rest is unwritten so they tell me if i have another cue i don't know about it and the critics can't understand that i write not for them as the walls close in and time slows down i miss your frame hovering elegantly over mine perhaps you're my greatest critic and so these words are not for you infected though my mind is the sisters have no pity reality will not bend for me so i run from her as i run from him without the eagerness i need we cant all win the race and i never was very fast
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Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
the ever watchful 3
with every grain of sand that drops one less word is devoted to you i still talk like someone is listening but i know your ears have long since tuned out living in a place where everybody speaks truth has good intentions likes simple things population unknown because everyone expects the worst in people i'd rather expect the best and be let down than live in fear of the evil behind every mask at the pit of every heart it might be imagined or maybe everything is the sand and the words won't run out but i will
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Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
hourglass
like smoke you can fill a room and be gone just as quickly all you need is a way out but you won't find your way back into this room the guys upstairs got tired of the door slamming so they locked it i would let you back in if i thought you might stay just for a little while but you never do in and out like the burger joint fast food love you must like it knowing that someone somewhere is hung up on you a sorry excuse for a person i feel like i'm wasting ink because one day you'll use it all up and words can't go as far as thoughts i'll catch the next bus i don't want to breathe you in
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Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
#1
day to day long stretches of boring in between the good things we live our lives waiting on the next something anything and it comes and goes just as easily again we wait on the next anything i do not know what i live for but it is not cold mornings sad goodbyes or lonely nights maybe those things pick us i don't mind hanging in the balance as long as i can see you there
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Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
sway