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I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
theres a trail out there
and shattered glass at the top of its hill
made it all the way up
just to be left broken and ***** at the finish line
im sorry
not because youre broken
(being broken isnt so bad)
but because all you can see is the dust that coats you
i promise
all your pieces make a window
and all the stars make a sky
and all this dust makes the adventure of a lifetime
 May 2018 Busbar Dancer
Onoma
as an earthworm touched

by a twig, a string curling

wildly to refuse the knot.

raw and sensate, dotted

with bits of soil like ellipses

of motion.

the same light's kept on in

the darkened ends of its

tunnel.

as your own.

a pulse in the earth, enriched

by a blackness that contains

immovability.

to surface therefrom, putting

the best of nakedness to shame--

streaming the gravity of

enlightening experiences.

turned continually over, as

if to freefall to the sky.
 May 2018 Busbar Dancer
Chris Bee
The mania comes,
and so does the obsession.
It holds me to her,
never letting my brain stray
TOO far from the thought of

that beautiful smile
those dark chocolate eyes
the cute poses
her

welp,
this is going to hurt like a *******.
 May 2018 Busbar Dancer
Ciel Noir
life is a dream
that the void dreams
life is a sentence
the void screams
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