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dylan-anthony
dylan-anthony
Italian
The mystery haunts me, Far too many memories exist without Me, and I am Increasingly Doubting my own. I’ve been Awake too long, So has he. Damaged Shimmer. I held his breath, And now I am Waiting to breathe again. I’ve found my place Though, on the bridge Between here and there. I do not, and will not, wish For ways to cross. I can see the shadows From the trees rising, Over the bright green marsh. I could be anywhere at this moment, But here I remain.
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
Damaged Shimmer.
An angel, singing In the street. I watched her breath, It did not go far. Tired heat, Ice splitting, Beneath footsteps, Pounding, down The wintry avenue, Passing the sweet Smell of sorrow, Where the corner Vicar Told me To be alone. I found you instead, Standing in the stairwell. Your hair felt like Feathers. We spent the day Chasing the sun, Through the open door, and Killing useless beauty.
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May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
On The Wintry Street, I Strode.
I held the blood of A noble ghost, the source To works of ******* princes And hotly discourse. Your eyes, too old Like glass, broken. Cutting across thoughts,   Floating away, unspoken. We walked down the tracks, And we smoked our cigars. Our rational burning, On stage for the stars.
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May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Rational Burning
Touch me if you know. Walk with me Hand-in-hand down this Painful, crooked path Of denial and deception that we pace, Always paving. This is my solemn vow To you, my darling: I will break free. Cruel expectations, my only limit, Not enough sand To understand why. She said, “Come on, we won’t need our bodies anymore.” I want to grasp her thorny outstretched arm With the hope for a rose, But the blood begins to flow and I must let go.
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May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
Crooked Paths
The city spits and swallows Leaving dirt pressed against its lips The hollow shell consumes Personality, Imperfections; Colored veins prove existence, Vulnerability. The city cracks Open, the streets divide The human marketplace Is ever-growing, ever-changing; Voices are lost in the medium, Trapped. She sits next to me, I look at her, ******* On a cigarette; Happiness sits on the Top shelf, sleeping, Wishing. She touches her lips, Feels the dirt, wipes it clean; The blood in her mouth Leaks, lingers Red like a plum,   cut, Scattered.   She dances For the people cold and Lifeless, A product of obsession; Full of sickness, full of eyes Watching her move from the dark, Silent. The city spits and swallows But never washes The dirt piling up And the blood strewing out; Like seduction in motion, Gasping.
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May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 10:19 AM UTC
City of Seduction
I live beyond morality, cloudy Skies issue complaints, however I hardly have the time. I often catch myself Staring at creatures. Wondering where they Wander, and why. I want to fight dragons today. I want to find a voice That suits me. Grey skies And frozen cranes, bother me. The stone wet, and Broken. Lifeless creatures Can be neither evil nor Wealthy. Broken Binaries. Broken Machines. What glues Our heads to our Bodies? Is there a separation? Voices Walk down the hall and Interrupt my view Through the window. Focusing again I see Opaque. Unable to Look past the glass. Only up to it.
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Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 1:17 PM UTC
Upon the Realization of my own Sociopathic Tendencies
Blood Red, same as the rest. I am in love with the woman at the Plasma Center; My veins pumping, full of minty sensation; Plugged in, to the sound The smell The taste Cooling the back of my tongue, near the throat, And the inside of my Chest. Blood Red, same as the rest. The machine spin cycles, Keeps us Calm, Clean. Blood Red, same as the Rest.
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Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 11:56 AM UTC
I am in Love with The Woman at the Plasma Center
Listen, you, who sit in the damp grass as the sun arrives over the shadow of a broken day, The forecast extirpates all the hate in this land grown up too late but still clinging on to the month of may Bird watchers,         Bike riders,                 Bank robbers,                          Blues singers together make this world vibrate, accentuate the hair of each and every nape after nape, I contemplate how this day will end, which roads to mend, which twig to bend, but I, I light up with the glow that could only come after a rain, all my stains removed and thrown through the windowpane I jump out, fall back and arrive in my final scene Lights crash, crash through this day, beauty between, If you don’t already have this engrained in your brain,                 The brightest rainbows come after the rain.
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Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Summer Rain
The devil was never evil, just confused. So I am too. I caught her before She fell. The ambulance came and wrapped her up in blue. Love and hate are not in opposition. Survival Requires them both to coexist. And I can’t remember the last time I agreed with the arm Or the army of truth. No questions. No questions. There is no escape from the farm. Maybe there was never a reason Maybe we need imagination Maybe nothing makes sense Does that make sense? Maybe its not supposed to Maybe we can’t know evil And we can’t know truth Maybe our language represents All of the lies we tie ourselves to Maybe God created the world And on the seventh day he slept in and hit the snooze. Maybe there was supposed to be more to it Maybe he said “Good enough,” and went Back to his golden throne to sit. He saved me, beat me up and gave me back To the water, back to the river, With the spider webs falling apart. Back to the place I sat and I thought And day turned into dark Maybe we only talk to agree upon truth, and Maybe my truth is a lie to you
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Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 11:39 AM UTC
Maybe