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Cana Apr 3
Who welcomed you into dreams
Of church fairs and rugby games?
Who asked you to sit there
At the table like we were still friends?
Who asked you to toast with us
to the future and couples and tequila shots?
Who? I’ll cut them out too
Stupid dreams
Cana Mar 3
You
Your pale white countenance
Developing perfect pools of black

Your comfort euphoric
Your presence detrimental

You're insomnia
You're Lust
You're Impotence

Your face numbing effusiveness
Congesting rhinal highways.

You're too much
You're too little
You're too Dangerous
Cana Jan 4
It’s suffocating.
I used to read you through rose tinted sunnies.
Now all I see are black and white scratchings
It’s you for sure, my heart can tell
But your colour is gone.
Yawn.
Cana Dec 2019
Its been a while since we sat and talked,
My friends of faceless fame.
Its been a while since I lost my friend,
My treasured brat, little one.
I found a path that killed the pain,
A path not walked for reasons.
I spent two weeks on its twisted curves,
And a fortune in green backed dollars.
The world sparkled for a while,
Crystalline lights and marble castles.
But now its over and my process done,
Back onto gravel work strewn passes.
Lets not wait so long my friend,
To talk of loved ones lost to life.
Lets spend more time with each others words,
Where we can cry and laugh and love.
An rambling mess about dealing with the pain of losing a loved one, everyone has their way, mine is not to cry but get lost in horrid places.
Cana Oct 2019
It’s a strange muse, this murderous blue.
So many drawn to her splendor
So many drawn to their death
I ran out of words to describe her beauty. But needed to remember how dangerous beauty can be
  Aug 2019 Cana
Sara Teasdale
I am not sorry for my soul
That it must go unsatisfied,
For it can live a thousand times,
Eternity is deep and wide.

I am not sorry for my soul,
But oh, my body that must go
Back to a little drift of dust
Without the joy it longed to know.
Cana May 2019
The bird songs ring out harmonious
Their calls for some wanton *******,
The best type.
Reciprocated across the landscape
Which is not the right word
There’s more sea here than land.
an orange hangs low in the lonely sky
Perfectly ripe,
Dripping wet with honeyed shades of gold,
Coating palm trees and my knees.
Also my cigarette box and my coffee mug. A slow swell pitching and yawing,  
a side to side appreciated only by those trying to sleep.
A breeze lazier than I licks my cheeks and fondles my thighs.
It’s time, to go.
Morning world
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