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patrick-w-taylor
Inhale exhale the sorrow Release burdens borrowed Lacerate the final tie That holds us to this lie A life of plastic Soul so elastic Stretch till thin Pulling the threads Tearing the self from within Walk the path The one not taken Walk on the grass Avoid the cobble ****** to death **** the martyr Take the heretic To the gallows Trust the blood The crimson link We’re all bound By this chain Cells within Cages created Walls built up No wonder we’re jaded So I’ve faded Back to the real Numbness gone Please, tell me how I should feel Opinions of old Are the options of the young? No new muse Just the breeze And the smell of the willow tree Fall onto one knee Pray to the master False façade Image shattered So walk alone No footsteps follow Keep on walking Do not wallow
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Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
The Sorrow
This ink on my skin, Is like the ink in the pen That I put on the page To show where I have been Document some thoughts Emotions some lost Break down with the math As a vote not cast But always showing Growing not loathing Patience is the key To love what’s to be Cause as a Beatle once said “let it be, let it be”
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Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
Ink
Smoke to remember, drink to forget Lay with another just to feel less regret Howl at the moon while you stare at the sun Sit up late waiting for a shadow A silhouette of the past Trying to find what was lost Only to forget what it was
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Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Untitled1
An empty bar, there's something magical about the concept. No drunkards spilling cheap beer on themselves, no ***** barflies leaning against bathroom stalls. No rough necks or the doomed preaching their individualistic sermons. One can find peace in an empty bar. A zen like state, drinking beers to achieve the aim of tantric Buddhism.
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Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Empty Bar
She smiled as we past and for a moment we lived in each others eyes. My hand traced the outline of her hips as I leaned in for a tender kiss. But, then she was gone off in an alternate direction from mine. Departed from my mind, I fall in love and die every day. I wonder if she has the same thoughts if their is depth behind her beauty. I wonder what her name could be, probably not Stacy, her name must be exotic maybe something like Talei. Did she notice me? Or am I just a greedy child pining for attention? The answers to me are unkown. Maybe we'll cross paths again and we'll dance in each others eyes. I may even ask her name, I hope the day will come. But until then the loner is I in search of another lone soul that I can be alone with. So sick of these parties and college bars. I hope she likes dive bars and good whiskey. Conversation, the sharing of thoughts and dreams is far more intimate than an embrace of flesh, an exchange of fluids. To expose our demons and let them dance. But this is only thought, not a reality. Tonight we're drinking bourbon in my dreams.
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Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Thoughts in Passing
Smoke exits as the door swings open, banging on a wall, tipping the trash can. The cloud floats up towards the sky to meet with the horizon adding white to the crimson tinted sun. Photogenic teens all group together to take a 'selfie' with the horizon. By their feet sits tall boys of cheap malt liquor. They cheer, they shout proclaiming that this is their one and only life, the world's ****** up so it's best to be the same. A short **** and a busted contraceptive. In nine months comes another ******* child born to wander in search of a dream that will never be seen. Rain falls but never to the container we become thirsty sipping on coronas with moldy limes. Pressing the salt to the wound to mummify a scar to present to the thrill seekers. All the while a fiend lays in some dank alley way with pin pricked veins. Talking philosophy with another homeless man who cannot read. "We need another dollar, we need change" but the right change is not found in the pocket, it's not found in a bank. The right change cannot manifest in green paper, it comes inside the hearts and minds of men, women, and children who live for later
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Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
Smoke