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AMcQ Jan 2015
There was once a flickering flame,
Its rising heat causing no pain.
But a shadow it cast,
telling tales from her past.
Now she runs to escape it in vain.
I should note the interesting muse behind this. On my desk in work today, sat a candle and some painkillers, both back-lit by a frustrating, flickering, fluorescent light. Funny how little things fall together. Needless to say, escape was not an option.
AMcQ Jan 2015
You promised me the stars.
But what you promised was a ghost;
A last glimmer of light
journeying from something
beautiful
which had long since
collapsed.
I wrote this one a few months ago as part of a poetry challenge on Instagram. The task; to write a poem with the words 'You Promised'.
AMcQ Jan 2015
Sometimes I wonder
Whether I truly fear
the spider
or I have simply
become obsessed with
its every move.
Sometimes, you are
that spider.
AMcQ Jan 2015
I've dropped the reigns
which hold firm
my fingers and wrists.
They have galloped from
my control,
as I struggle to
steady them.
Inhaling through
flared quivering nostrils.
I struggle to fill the
space in my chest,
so I can empty it
instantly
with a tight ****** scream.
AMcQ Dec 2014
A locked lake lies lonely,
deep beneath ice and snow.
Pieces of past still present
in delicate misty glow.
We wish to wake it.
We wish to know it.
I wish they'd leave it alone.

I think my mind calls it home.
Lake Vostok is the largest sub-glacial lake in Antarctica. The surface of the fresh water lake is around 4,000m under the surface of the ice. Scientists are keen to see what kind of living museum could have survived for the thousands of years that the lake could have existed. It's pretty amazing!
  Dec 2014 AMcQ
Beaux
Your eyes they flutter
Like butterfly wings
When closed they blend
To the same tan as their background
But,
When opened
They shine a brilliant blue
And throw me off
AMcQ Dec 2014
A malady of spirit has taken up residence
somewhere in the gut.
Its' presence is announced by hollow sounds
and the falter of hands.
Beneath puckered brow, my jaw has tightened.
Clenched. Rigid.
I float on inflated irony, somewhere in the gap between
nostalgia and regret.
Like a flat rock meant to skim the surface...
I've been flung too hard by a lazy grip.
I look towards the surface as sunlight fades from view.

I know now why it's called
'rock bottom'.
I was throwing stones into the sea this weekend and this came together :)
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