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there’s a guilt i can’t explain,
an ache without a name,
like i’m sorry for something
i never became.
Santa Claus is a spirit
He comes to those who believe
The only thing about being a spirit
Is you have to use people
To do things in this world
That's why he gets people
To bring the gifts that you want
But you have to believe
Written for Marley when she was only 8 years old and her classmates laughed at her for still believing in Santa.
That girl sitting there
is a beautiful tragedy
her mind is an aghast
her body
is her grave
her bones
ache
while her throat is being strangled
whats wrong with her mind
cant ever be untangled.
she,
is a beautiful tragedy
I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.

I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.

I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.

I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.

At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.

The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.

So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.

I lay down arms against the evening.

To the dreaming

I cast my gaze.
 May 19 Hawley Anne
Bea Rae
How could I forget

Being blamed for his abuse

When I spoke of it
 Feb 16 Hawley Anne
Traveler
Dear friends, I miss you all!

I am no longer online to be snagged by lure,
AI no longer has a spell on me.
Deep in nature is where I seek my cures,
off the grid I'm finally free.

.
Traveler Tim
If you were me and I was you
I'd look at me the way you do
But never view what you could see
When you were you and I was me

**
Are you the one I promised
When I didn't keep my word?
Are you the voice inside my head
That no one else has heard?
When the sun has slowly risen
And I look into the past
Were you the man on fire
Or the shadow that he cast?

Was I the dragon sleeping
Or the gold on which he slumbered?
Was I the one and only one
Or was I merely numbered?
Is every second precious
When the day was never mine?
Was I ever really real
Or a flaw in your design?
There lived a witch in olden times
Of the quizzical variety
A firm grasp of the arcane arts
Though sadly not sobriety
She hatched a certain theory
Causing general consternation
But she turned away from doubters
And towards her new salvation

Go deosil, never widdershins
Avoid a deadly plight
For turning left is sinister
And that just isn't right
Rotating anticlockwise
Is officially redundant
Keep turning right for victory
Examples are abundant

My cousin said she knew a man
His name is immaterial
He turned left one too many times
Whilst searching for the cereal
Reality was torn apart
And through the gap he fell
He landed in a tangled heap
Outside the gates of hell

Go deosil, never widdershins
As daytime follows night
For hard to port is oh so gauche
But starboard's always right
Moving counter to the clock
Will ever be unwise
So keep on going rightwards
And away from your demise

Wendy failed to plan her route
With careful dedication
To turn only the rightest way
And reach her destination
Her lack of forward thinking
Led to tragic complication
She came upon a roundabout
And died of dehydration

Go deosil, never widdershins
Stay right and on the level
For only flaccid penises
Hang limp towards the devil
And those who turn to face the dark
The gods will surely smite
So if you think of turning left
Instead, go three times right
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