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edmond
edmond
American Mental note: must write bio. :)
Call me raven for I am sensitive to human persecution. I'll run away from man and hide in the wilderness. Call me crow for I mock man. I thrived on his sociality. I laugh at his face and at his impotent attempts to **** me.
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
Call me Raven/Call me Crow
I drank in dark water and my soul blackened. I have been baptized by darkness. My eyes shed the blindness and now I see. Demons surround us, they rule the world, there is no escape. They control the direction of the winds, they control the world. They feed us lies and we call them philosophies. They entered our minds and our hearts and we called them gods. They offer us happiness but no tomorrows. We gave them love but they don't give love back. They keep us in chains made of fears and superstitions. They made us their slaves but some of use are too dumb, blind to see. We are sheep going to the slaughter, willingly. We say, we are on top of the food chain but they are above us, demons love to feed on us.
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Dark Water
Can the rainfall translate into words of love in the same way your heartbeats always patted out the same old beat, I love you I love you too Could the wind through the trees ever whisper as softly as you did at 3 am when we stayed awake all night just trying to remain alive? The heavy breaths I felt on my chest before you would awaken and kiss me a little too hard were always the most calming sounds I believed any human could make The storm clouds don't really exist anywhere outside of my mind, and the lightning struck lovers that we always were just had to see the sunrise one day
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
storm clouds don't really exist
it wasn't enough to hear you say that you love me, I needed proof, hard proof, evidence that a being like yourself even had a heart inside that skeletal cage, does it beat? Or just lay still like your body when you're beside me. I know you don't love me any more, your heart stopped beating at least 3 months ago and before that I have a feeling it was black, and cold as ice, anyway you'd beg for kisses, and more, and tell me you love me as you collapsed in a heap next to me but never on me, there was always distance between us even when we should be the closest one human can get to another but I felt the space between us, turn from a crack, to a gaping hole you never told me you loved me when I kissed you, or when I had to blow your nose because you were too sick to even move your arms you never said you loved me when I cooked us breakfast on a rainy morning and you listened to me humming our song, under a breath laced with regret and that morning I let you wind your arms around my front, and you whispered in my ear I thought you'd say you loved me, you just told me the eggs were cooked wrong
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
the eggs were cooked wrong
For most of my life I wanted to help people I wanted to be a superhero I wanted to save people From everything that was hurting them I wanted to fix up people's wounds But then I found out what it meant to be a savior It means you spend every day worried That your best friend may not be alive tomorrow It means second guessing Every Single Word You say to him It is being told you are the only reason he is alive It is spending nights awake Because being someone who saves Isn't as rewarding as you thought it would be
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
Hero?
Poetry is philosophy. Poetry is the poet's philosophy. A poet lives by a poetic philosophy.
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Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
Poetic Philosophy
He loves to study astronomy, she has a heavenly body, he likes to look at her through his telescope. She wants him to open his heart, He wants her to open her legs. He gropes her like lost in the dark and she feels his body like feeling her way out of a black hole.
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Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
HEAVENLY BODY
The feel of paper the touch of hardcover the ink kissing the paper. Paper feel skin. Scratch by pen-claws Ink bleed blood. Hide behind hard cover.
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Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
Writing
Everyone wants to go to heaven but no one wants to follow the God's rules. Children wanted to be in the house but no one wants to follow the Father's rules. There's a key to heaven but everyone would rather pick the lock. Everyone wants to go to heaven but they don't know who's heaven or which rules to follow. Everyone wants to go to heaven but don't know which one that they want to go to. If they make their own rules--- does heaven acknowledge them? Everyone wants to play the game but don't want to play by the rules.
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Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
HEAVEN
Spring makes me happy, Summer makes me feel all warm inside, Fall makes me sad, Winter makes me sleep.
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Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Seasons, Seasons