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erin walts Jan 2018
He's a sigh the wind carried away

Faint and distant
Like letting three words
linger too long on a quiet breath

Barely there

No one hears and they disappear

you know they were real...

...Warm and solid
Heated by the spit under your tongue.

Quick and sudden
He melts on my tongue

In a short subtle embrace
relief comes in the strangest wave

And I sigh
erin walts Jan 2018
I can't be a writer
There is no one to read
I can't be a writer
Too many mouths to feed
I can't be a writer
The folly of my being
Why even try
Still the words come pouring out of me
I can't be a writer

Yet still

I write
erin walts Dec 2017
A million souls
Are trapped inside a body
Each a shred of your own personality
Making up the person that is you
A tormented hell,
But God lives there too
erin walts Dec 2017
Is like seeing color for the first time in a grey world
It's like fueling the hot ember city that turns the log towards entropy
The pleasant and gentle disarray that all matter longs to be
It's like hearing the grandiose ocean waves, a whole biosphere, packed inside the small space of a seashell
It's like thick warm milk
It's like soft rich green grass
that was made for picnics in the hot sun
It's like rain on a july summer night the kind of rain you can lay in and never feel cold
It's the purr of a cat
And the way silver necklace chains feel as the cold metal sinks into your skin
It's the smell of wisdom in old books and home in fresh baked bread
It's the safety and protection of a hand hold
It's an indescribable pureness


It's Bliss
erin walts Dec 2017
I think I've lost it
My creative spark
I try to be different
But **** that **** is hard
You have to write
They tell me things about
Running water and faucets
But I swear to you it's turned off
because
I really think I've lost it
erin walts Dec 2017
Maybe when I'm dead is when I'll be discovered
"Miss Walts of the technical age"
Someone will find my art and say "wow she really got it she really had it you know she was brilliant, a genius, truly great"
The best version of myself will then be shown
The romantized self analyzed by doctorates and lab coats
They'll all wonder what I really mean
And I'll be gone
Gone so they can't ask me
They'll mold me into a piece they really want
After death I'll return as a pawn
Crooning the voice of the people of our age
We all scream
"I'm not good enough
And because of this I cannot do a thing!
I can only make art from depressive relief.
Society is telling me everything to believe.
I can't think for myself for the life of me do not ask me a question because I never think!"
A self medicated self asbsorbed zombie
"No one has it worse than me."
erin walts Oct 2017
The acid in my stomach starts to boil Hot blood in my vains curdles to a coil something hits my nose like sour milk; A three year spoil

You are a friend never trustworthy
A friend never loyal
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