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paige-ashley
American My words don't make sense. I actually make no sense. I'm a mess of owls, bones, coffee, painting, books and insanity. I'm sorry you have to read all of this.
Skull etched of flowers Bones white as snow You fell in love with the marrow Listened to the mouth that told you to go Repetitive are your words, your ways Many creations helping convey To be truthful, it all means the same Go to her Don't listen to that mouth Speak, "Home is where you are" I didn't fall in love in the South
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Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 7:34 AM UTC
Bones and Southern Sun
Candle brims and faint light Let it keep you alive Fall in love with the passing night It's acceptable to dream up your deaths These potential slumbers won't bring rest I wish I slept and dreamt of lanterns in grass Everything in my view is on fire Full of abiding, dangerous desire It's not my pulse that's pounding My passion is what's thriving I hammer the beauty so forcefully I should recognize this morbidity To my being it's life, not the finale It's the soft breaths you take involuntarily Peaceful. I hope death holds this illumination.
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Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 7:30 AM UTC
Illumination
Gray is so deathly I watched it all, blood red From tires you bring guilt You deliver them no reprieve From the window, you look much sweeter Down on the pavement, you couldn't make hell any deeper You're still half beautiful though Every breathing lung disagrees Your ***** blood is all you have to show I won't recite you stories, you're dead Just bury this in your non-existent grave I ponder upon your disintegrating- I'll think I amend the vultures that choose your corpse You'll have that home you wanted Even if it's for a little while
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Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
Squirrels and Opossums
I found the cure, but I'm not so pure You'll have to bear with me as I fall deeper, deeper. We laugh about the mermaids in the sea I laugh but you don't think you're funny We'll draw koalas, and go on walks for hours.
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 7:06 PM UTC
A Shade of Vintage Gray
Guess I'll be postponing December's reconstructive surgery There's nothing like being delayed from your own burglary It had potential too, well maybe if it wasn't so ruthful I'll still tentatively deem it as successful I started to shed the lingering fatigue I began to think of my completed protocols Triggered the realization I need the reconstruction after all
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:05 AM UTC
The Deconstruction Of Reconstructing
I've grown tired of this surreal, trying-to-run-underwater paralysis My thoughts will not expire, even though I harshly insist It's time to redirect my energy back to the war The one I began waging over two years ago I'll keep struggling against this innuendo All for the hope to destroy my incoherency Yet somehow still possess my secrecy
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:02 AM UTC
The Antebellum Soul
There is common ground between the seasons and I Stages of everything going conclusively awry Undergoing this divine metastasis I view it as lacking the act of being courageous And being even farther of described as spontaneous But I never berated a late afternoon in September Especially the absurd image of even knowing it was a possibility I hope in a decade or so I will remember Every one of these disjointed thoughts As rapid as hummingbird wings I'll soon miss December
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
Common Metastasis
Written with unflinching honesty I resume Although I still see this poignant death as an empty room Yes, I will resume this empathy I'll admit it's not well-crafted with superiority This inevitable event deftly captures us all moving into a vagrancy Confronting the abyss of what might be
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 9:53 AM UTC
Watching A Selfish Death
Do you know how hard it is to make a dead man proud It just about puts yourself in the ground Living for a corpse with a pulse They have no place for their words Taking advice from a dead man is absurd Until they put life back into their own soul Don't go out of your way and dig your own hole
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 9:52 AM UTC
A False Graveyard
Your body is the capitol of our state I'll meet you there, or at least what's left of it I look into your eyes, you're not letting me through the gate I can't manage this entire place You have to lift your face Emerge from the sheets It's not home without me
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Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 9:48 AM UTC
Under The Sheets