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  Nov 2014 Emma Pickwick
r
you came in from the cold dressed bold
under a black flag like isis on the road
to baghdad in a red ferrari going all john
le carré defecting with the little drummer
girl laurie in a deadly affair expecting
the honourable school boy when i'm used
to being a most wanted man -

now i'm no naïve and sentimental lover, baby
i'm the perfect spy and this ain't a small town
in germany but ich bin ein berliner, fraulein -
you better make this your last call for the dead

- it was (y)our kind of game playing
tinkering tailoring soldiering spying -
doodling smiley's people on the side
acting like absolute friends with fred
the constant gardener at the russia house
and red the tailor of panama
like a ***** with a straw up your nose
in the looking glass war
but if you do it again -

let me tell you a secret, pilgrim
i'll drop you where you lie -
it'll be a ****** of quality, baby
and that's a delicate truth

- you were our kind of traitor
on the blue mesa.

r ~ 11/14/14

i like john le carré
:)
Emma Pickwick Nov 2014
So I keep asking myself why I keep trying to fight these battles
I know I have already lost,
And never looking forward enough to recognize the cost.
When this had been a train with no stops to let myself recover,
And I was constantly leaving my imprint in the thoughts of all the others.
I was trying to heal without letting it cross my mind,
Of the time I was touched and the choice wasn't mine.
I kept building all my relationships on vanity and lust
When I realized there wasn't anyone left I could trust.
Maybe I needed to grow up a little,
Gain some self respect back,
Stop smoking cigarettes and drinking six packs.
Maybe it was my fault and I miscalculated my moves,
And I was a pawn in chess and he was a black shadow in the corner of the room.
I wish I could've told someone earlier,
Rebuild the barriers that were crossed,
I just keep asking myself why I keep trying to fight these battles
I know I have already lost.
Emma Pickwick Nov 2014
Flickering lights in old parking lots
My head on your chest
Blink-182
I miss you, I miss you.

Kisses on my neck
On my *******
On my hips
I dare you to choke me,
Don't let me breathe, don't let me breathe.

Radio down and expensive coffee on the floor,
Take me for granted tomorrow
I like how much you hurt me.
Love you forever, love you forever.

In too deep,
Falling asleep,
Nobody but me,
Better not be anybody but me,
You don't have to love me, you don't have to love me.
  Nov 2014 Emma Pickwick
r
Dying slow in the mountains seemed much easier than simply breathing at sea level.

I've been thinking that maybe I was happier when I was still drinking.

I tried to write a poem called Pointless and never made it beyond the title.

Dying seems easier than breathing at sea level.

r ~ 11/7/14
Emma Pickwick Nov 2014
I write a lot about being in the passenger seat,
In cars that are beat up,
Or sometimes they're luxe.
About soft linens and and duvets like winter's best angels,
About smoking Marlboro reds on front porch steps.
About cold and blank mornings.

I write a lot about coffee shops.
Looking out the window and watching passerby's,
Feeling the sonder seep into my bones,
About the ones who smile at me,
Those I don't know,
And those I eventually get to meet.

I write about falling in love,
Getting my heart broken,
*** with strange men,
Which was only one time.  
When I felt loss in my chest and got carried away.

And so I want you to feel me the way I feel all of these things that I can't help but be so obsessed with and I don't know why.
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.
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