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Whoever told you
That we weren't
All in this Together


Lied.
There is power in unity.  
Happy Independence Day, America.
Nothing
surpasses
staying up
until
five a.m
with an
opportunity
to be a
good
friend.
My 200th post goes to my friends. Wrote this on 5/26/14. A fun night.
Who ever knew
my best friend
would be a pen?
©July 15th, 2014 by Timothy Brown.
You scream urgency like an accident and emergency waiting room, like a person relapsing into addiction, because they pushed themselves too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil, where you've tried to get to grips, with your inner turmoil.
And there's a danger in your voice, like a lost child waiting to be found, and you string sentences at a time but no sound, emits. As you sit in fits, of hysterics.
Danger, like racing cars and frightened cries, and there are holes in your back, formed by the lies, you've been subjected too. And i wonder if i could use them to carefully breathe, life back into you.
The life that you seem to have let slip through your finger tips, like dry sand, and there are wants and demands, taped to the pupils of your eyes, and i wonder if i get close enough, if i could see, if i could prize, them open.
The dreams and memories, before they turned stale and congealed in your veins, before they curled up and died, and left you entangled, in the remains.
And the valleys of your eyes, run wide and down deep, and when you weep, your tears fall heavier, than a ten tonne van, falling from unreachable heights.
And there are marks on your body, where you've lost the fights, the sleepless nights, with yourself. And you're a shadow of the man, you used to be, and even your shadow, has sought someone anew.
And your foundations are built on heartache and pain, and those little tear ducts in your eyes, they constantly rain. torrential down pours.
And there is hopelessness, embedded deep within your pours and despite the ongoing rain, you,you're in a draught, all the love you've showered others in means you've ran out, for yourself.
And your health, is a picture of cigarettes and late night drinks, old whiskey, poured down sinks.
And you're reaching the brink, the breaking point. But you quite like the sound, of broken plates and you greet with haste, the familiar taste of self destruction.
And there's a ghost, where you used to be, haunting the curves of  your smile, watching you all the while, as you destroy and defile, the cold skin, that stretches over your protruding bones.
This terror your living in, lures the wolves home, could start a thousand wars, and this battle your fighting, these revolving doors, inside of your mind, leave a carcus, a morsel, a shell, of yourself behind.
And your insides stick to the past, like double sided cello tape, and there are windchimes in your spine, counting down the time you wait, for freedom to meet you with open arms, and your arms, paint a picture of self harm, in bright red pen, and the ringing of alarms is renewed again and again.
And your heart on your sleeve, is clouded, and weaved, between fragile pastel pink scars, and the hesitation in your voice, jars any conversation, and you scream in frustration as we express your complications.
And you, you wish desperately, that you could be free, of those demons, the sin, for a new beginning.
And there's toxic in your lungs, and a noose around your neck,where you've hung your expectations too high,
And you're hanging by a thread, and the further you slip, the more knots you tie, in an attempt to buy time,
And you drink down each crime against yourself, with another bottle of wine, as you search and unwind, the mazes within your mind.
And you can see in the way you carry your frame, that you've been to the depths of hell and danced with the devil in vain, on many occasions,
And your eyes they tell tales wanders, of liquid sedation, as you squeeze into a nation, too small, too handle, too inexperienced, too dismantle, the train wreck, you see, every time you look intensely, at your reflection,
And your recollections of your past, are like shards of sharp glass,scattered between the seams of your life, and you, you batter the strife, with drug filled bombs, painful tongues and licks, of the kicks, you deny to be true, as you continue to fall through, reality in a clarity, smeared with drunken violence, and ear piercing silence.
Redrafted with a new format and structure. Hope you all like it.
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.

Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.

The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.

The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.

Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.

The: Oh. My. God!
The: He/She is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.

Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Strike me with tragedy
We all ignorantly cry

What disease has our culture yet to romanticize?

We think we want tragedy
But all we ever wanted was sympathy
We want sympathy for our human condition
Validation for our struggles
We want the attention that cancer would cause
So pathetic that we wish this, as those who suffer from illness would do anything to make it go away
It is not their wish or fault
We are such self-centred creatures

Be thankful for your health, pray for those who are ill
Funny how a phone call can
Place a kiss upon a
Heart that needs one.

Friend, more.
Whatever you
Want.
I'm done with judging
Doors and their timing.

I could need your healing
For decades.
50%
heads
i love you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and think about the good times

tails*
i hate you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and cry about the good times

although i'm not in love with you anymore
i still think about you fondly in my dreams
we haven't spoken in weeks
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