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Eleanor Rigby Nov 2018
It is only at the mercy of God
That I still live rightly
That very same God
To whom I did wrongly.
Should I have died
Before the sun rose
That evening in the war
Where widowed in blood shed pose.

For whom must I live justly
If for those I killed rather softly
At the expense of the fair
I live poor, pale and frail.


-- Eleanor
Eleanor Rigby Nov 2018
You grab the thread
And start walking away
And I, still pinned to a twig
Unravel, unravel
And become but a trail
Behind your sail.


-- Eleanor
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
Glum gobbledygook gush
Somber Sonata hush
Hurricanes in horrid heat
Deadly dot-dwelling defeat
At your **** feet.


-- Eleanor
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
German chocolate
And Belgian Waffles.

Maybe French crepes, too.
They all smell like you.


-- Eleanor
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
Pear on the coffee table
Apple on the counter
A loaf of bread
On the unmade bed.
My heart in your fridge,
Half broken, half dead.


-- Eleanor
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
If only I could collect the rain,
Put it in a jar
And take it to God.

Then I would say,
Here, I found your tears,
They made the soil breath.


-- Eleanor
Eleanor Rigby Oct 2018
Spilling your coal black insides
In coal black ink,
Into a snow white sheet.

Your twisted coal black
Little cunning friends
All have the same breath.

Some are demons,
Some are whispers,
And one of them is death.


-- Eleanor
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