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Bragi May 2018
I hate that you are so beautiful.
I hate      that you are
                                      So
                                            Beautiful.
At a price
I say it twice
                          It’s comical
                         Illogical
                        That for you I fall
Neurological
Psychological
                        The damage caused
                       Stall
                      Stall
                     Stalled.
                    Paused.

My head now full
         Cruel.
           Undo
             The damage that has spread
To bed
To bed
To bed
     It was said
       I hated how you were so beautiful
         When for twice those words were
      bled.
Bragi May 2018
If I was separated from you
By a wall
12 feet tall
With no way to pass
Or make it fall
  I’d ask for glass
    A small window placed
      At the height of my shoulders
        The height of your face.
          Only one way
            A mirror of mine
              So I could see you
                While you move on with time.
                             I’d watch you smile
                             I’d watch your grace
                             I’d see his joy
                             As you dance till embrace.
                    You would grow old
                  Gifted with grandchildren
                But you would be happy
             As I looked on in.
         As life fades from sight
      You’d remember a time
    Of a boy who once was yours
And wishes you were mine.
  May 2018 Bragi
Charles Bukowski
during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.
Bragi May 2018
Messy
Stab
Splatter
Shattered
Fragmented
Tangled
Knots
Earphones in pockets
Cross
Naught
Nothing
Nowhere
Sink
Sink
Sink
Mouth open
Sound closed
Broken
Wave
Run
Wave
Run
One
Long
Two
Darkness
Three
Passe­s
Into
Four
Sharpness
Five
Of the mind
Sit
Still
Sit
Feel
****
Feel
Depression
No euphoria
Hits of
Real
Melancholia
Bragi May 2018
I’m letting it hit me
Like a wave
Washing over me
Wet soil on a grave

I’m letting it burn
Like hot coals
Beneath my feet
Thought myself so bold

I’m letting it suffocate
Like a dark plastic bag
Pulled over my mouth
A marble statue made to gag

I’m letting it take control
Like a fortune teller
Whispers of possibility
What if I hadn’t met her?

I’m letting it sicken me
A twist with no hunger
Flicking me, eyes closed
Like sleeping through thunder

I’m letting myself fall
Far down the rabbit hole
In hopes I’ll land and look up
To my name being called
Bragi May 2018
It was 2012
When the world stood still
And the people held hands
heart beats bound hostage
In search of a thrill

It was 2012
When my thrill came
But not like I’d hoped
Not with the pain

It was 2012
When my life changed
My eyes grew darker
As did the days

It was 2012
When I first felt cold
An emptiness and longing
No hope left to hold

It was 2012
When the tears fell from his face
When I looked across and cried
At his sorrow and his heartbreak

It was 2012
When the clocks stopped turning
And she woke one night
To find a ghostly presence lurking

It was 2012
When I wore a black suit
Held a white rose
And stood above a hole, mute

It was 2012
When I knelt down broken
Fell to my knees
With words I wished I’d spoken

It was 2012
That I learned a lesson
Life is fleeting
Live it with passion

It was in 2012
That I touched the gates of Hell
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