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just_a_byte
Being gifted time on a growing rock might not sound that great. Hating time of a lessened world could feel more productive. Giving time to a dieing thing is a tool we seem to need.
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Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 4:50 PM UTC
The Growing Rock
Colored autumn lines a hill with fire, Its vibrancy sits heavy in my iris. I greet it like an old hound, And chase its scent to the top. Who knew rot could be a perfume? Maybe it’s the pessimist in me? No, it’s the pruning of a relationship holding opportunity like a prisoner. I’ve always felt meaning When peaking a hill. Accomplishment seems to be made for the man who can look back, And understand why the hill is on fire.
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Aug 23, 2025
Aug 23, 2025 at 8:47 PM UTC
Hills on Fire
I find it disturbing How clever and careful The past can be. Like some scheme It has laid a plan, Raising invisible barriers That push you to me. It is oddly entertaining. I like to see you hurt. But who can I plead with For this to stop?
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Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 5:45 PM UTC
The Past
Raised by a twisted Pavlov's bell. You were taught to hate. You picked a side and what bridge to burn, And now I get to write your name in ash. Oh, what luck; a gust of wind whips, and your title tears away like pages from a book. I have half a mind to reach for it, but let it slip away, like the dust it is. What am I to do with it? The birds will find some use, And maybe you'll make an ant's day. And as flies pollinate your dirt, I get to sit and remind myself: That out of all you took What you left, I get to appreciate a little more.
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Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 10:31 AM UTC
The Ash You Left
I want to be that last sip of wine to touch your lips and kiss you goodnight. I could be your bitter red or sweat white, lingering in your throat. Though, over the years, I've soured and can understand being put away. Still, I am happy to float away in my want and imagine your sip.
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Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 7:03 PM UTC
I want to be
I was frightened by your kiss last night. A shred of discomfort, please awaken me like a whisper. I fear the slow corrosion of your silver and gold. How do I prepare you to take a bullet when I plan to run from your wound?
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Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
Awaken me
I push you pull. I think You Thought I was to be Your one and only.
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Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
One and only
Silence finally settles like dust, A bitter ice has formed. There is no battle fought by neglect That’s ever chosen a victor. But a dent was made, In the deepest part of me. Small, yet enough to rust, Giving grip for weeds. And oh how they thrived, Gorging off of ancient wounds. Feeding on painful sin, growing into sickening hate. Is this what you wanted? Hate that could melt through faith, As if the point's been proven, You still hold to your silence. You dog, Lurking in my shadow, Still, patient, Happy to watch these weeds grow.
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Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 7:52 PM UTC
The Dog
When is that moment Between growing and dying that I feel fulfilled
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Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 7:45 PM UTC
Fulfilled
Something has grabbed me. Smoke heavy as lead, Dragging me back with habit Towards the numbness of forgetfulness Wait, haven't I fought this before? I know how this ends. A rot, gluttonous, Creeping over my borders. I am prey, filled with fight, But dangerous patience paralyzes me, With earthly poison from its fang Isn't it odd how pleasant this is, Wrapping around me, Inviting me to stay just a little longer But what am giving up To enjoy this comfort Never mind anymore I will meet it in forgetfulness again
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Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 5:01 PM UTC
Forgetfulness