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I don't wanna listen to you anymore
Spilling your icky gooey brain all over the table
Fingers turn to fists
Turn your music into discs
and I'll be in the car on my way home
With the powder still on the tip of my nose
Smells better that fresh air
Taste better than the blood I tasted on your tongue
Sit, it feels better than sitting on the hood while we go at 60 in a 45
he thinks about pineapples, I think about plums
I sip coca cola, he drowns in ***
No matter the amount of love he's in
Feelings are paper thin
As his words increase in amount
And loses track of what its about
He loses his mind
Because most of his brain has already leaked out
A call from you bring my thoughts to succession
A sweet arrangement of my childhood recollections
The riddled anxiety that still today is omnipresent
And funnels through adulthood like bumper cars at an intersection
Or is it that your remnants clings to my insides like an infection?
That burning sensation that to me still feels like blessings
It bubbles in my ears beating my eardrums to shreds every second
There's no question
I have a penchant
For the mere mention of us again
Not everyone in the world
Wants to be like you
Or share your opinion
No matter how much you think that your are the ultimate being
We're all just human
Quality silence
Hearing the jerking and workings of the world
With enough peeps funneling through for the room to be filled
Yet over and under our talking occurs
And we converse for hours without saying a word
When you just know someone
Thursday Feb 13
My lips pushed against his chest when he pulled me in
I breathed in his scent, this is better than fresh air could ever be
Pressed against his chest,  counting  the rhythm of his hearts song
Clamped in tight, I watched the sunrise from in between his arms
Thursday Jan 24
He's dressed for snow
Under his winter coat
hangs a heavy heart dangled from weighed down shoulders
upon his brow is a fist full of thoughts
Brought about by a misunderstanding of other people's lives
Or misunderstanding of his own
He couldn't be sure
All he knows is that its cold
And he has to get to work
Thursday Jan 22
I hung onto your face until it solidified and tied itself to my anckles
And as I was being pulled down to the ocean floor
I realized that it was an anchor not a life jacket
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