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If there's one
kind of person
that I despise
the most,

it's a ******* writer.
I am so **** sick
Of pretending I dont care
About who you are

And i am so sick
Of forever being a
Temporary thought

That leaves your mouth with
The bittersweet tatse of the
Memories we shared
 May 2015 Katie Katie
Erenn
Tears streaked down her face like lemon drops
Her freckles akin to constellations
Glistens as they sparkled like diamonds
Even in her worst state she looks ethereal
Believing in her onus of relegated contempt. She knew she was right
But she couldnt move on.
Remembering yesterdays will only be grim.

She can never forget his sudden demise
How she wished she was swimming on whims.
Her conscience reminded her this was the best,
"The past will never be rewritten,
Fate is condemned
And it will never be changed
It will never be forgotten"


But she forgot she's still breathing
Her life endlessly bounded
To her heart's profound.
She's the master of her own
She can't change fate's surprise
But she can bring it to demise
She finally broke free like a lark
From speckles of lips that only tweets
But never succor in sustenance's bleak

She ran and flew
As high as the skies mimics the ocean's bare.
As darkness lurked forever hidden
She's finally free to go anywhere

To seek what enacts happiness
To solve jigsaws of desired puzzles
To breathe this life like forever has a last
To love and be loved again
*To live the way she wants to live
Something that just popped in my head.
I miss doing solo writes. so here I am.:)
You can't change the past.
But you are the master your own fate.
 May 2015 Katie Katie
Erenn
That dream that I had,
It was a blurr
But your face i see ever so clearly.
Everything was white
You smiled at me happily;
A premonition as you see it.
You told me,
"Maybe I dumped you on that day."
The truth is,
You held my hand clutching it tightly
You were wearing your wedding dress.
**And it was our wedding day.
The rest of what happened in my dream.
~~~

My memory of grandpa
Was that his hands were red
Showing me some pictures
A kid's book before bed.

The bones were raw and gnarled
The sinews looked all sore
The skin was thickly callused
Spotted, lined and scored.

They showed wear and tear
They echoed his toil
Grandpa was a farmer
A tiller of the soil.

Grandpa couldn't read
But we could laugh and look
His hands delicately turning
The pages of a book.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/12/2015
This is one of my favorite memories.

~~~
 May 2015 Katie Katie
hkr
those days, i would've followed you off a cliff
these days, i'd call 911 --
because i know, now,
that love isn't wanting someone
so much that you'd die for them
but wanting what's best for them
and knowing
that isn't always you.
 May 2015 Katie Katie
Cat Fiske
I've daydreamed of my burial day,
I've thought about,
who I want to come,
If anyone would come,
and you understand,
if you've been on death's end before,


but if what's more important,
or adequate,

is the music performed,
then we get our ends,

and as the soulless bodies glance down,
as I'm buried in,
there will be a concert,
I'll hear,
six feet underground.


I will,
Just
hear,
Sound.


*R.I.P.
death man,
Your soft skin is tearing,
Your voice is cracking, trying to sing.
Your hands are shaking, cold chillings runs down your spine.
No escape,
No place to hide.
Inside, you're dying, fighting for the smallest sliver of hope.
You died in that cocoon, you never became a butterfly.
Knifes are ordinairy now, you know them all too well.
As they cut and damage your resolve, you suddenly know it and it occurs to you...

Death is coming for you, it talks, whispers even:
''Go back to sleep my child, you've sufferd enough...''
This poem is dedicated to all the victims who struggle in their teen years, some who did survive self harm, some who didn't....
It is sad how feeling sometimes can destroy us
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