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 Feb 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
Untitled
 Feb 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
it's not that i want the attention


i just want to be important.
 Feb 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
life.
 Feb 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
once upon a time,
when the sun shined a bit brighter,
i heard the birds chirp in the morning
when i was awake before ten am.

the following weekday,
my mom smiled at me, as she sent me off to school without a fight
i arrived at school with a smile, greeted by 'friends'
'hey! how are you!'
'can i copy your homework?'
'lets get breakfast!'

however now,
i'm awoke to shouting, 'wake up, wake up!, you've been asleep all day'
so i follow that comment, and sleep for another hour, what do i have to miss?
half the day is gone, no point in making it up

the week day brings, 'time for school!'
forced in the shower, 'you've got an hour to the bus comes!'
handed a cup of coffee after being dressed, and shipped off to school
'i'll see you after school!'
despite pleas of staying home, there's no point in fighting anyway.

no more chirping birds
no more bright smiles
no more happy child,
you're a teenager now.

a **** sad one, at that.
 Feb 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
i got a plan.

each step is all put together, ready for action.

i got a plan.
it's going to benefit both you and me.

i got a plan
it's for the future.
yes, for you and i's future.

i got a plan.
if it goes into action, we'll both shoot off into space.
not really, but maybe it'll feel that way.

i got a plan.
for you and me,
we'll become one.
so i'm not longer me.
i am us.
you are us.
we are us, forever and ever.

i got a plan, do you want to know what it is?

i got a plan, it's for you to find out
about us.
what the **** is this.
Gotta stop writing
**** love poems
For a complete ****
Who will never read them.

Gotta stop writing
Crap fantasies
About a complete ****
Who will never fulfil them.

Gotta stop writing
Sick eulogies
For a dead friendship
That will never hear them.

Gotta stop writing
**** love poems
Before they become
All that I can write.
 Jan 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
everything is too much
far too much for me.

there is
far too much expected of me
far too much to be done
far too little time

there's not enough time to live
and there is
far too many people to disappoint

oh, i just wanna die.
 Jan 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
everything is too much
far too much for me.

there is
far too much expected of me
far too much to be done
far too little time

there's not enough time to live
and there is
far too many people to disappoint

oh, i just wanna die.
 Jan 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
it's better to just stay home
where everything is familiar
and nothing is uncomfortable

it's better to stay home
where you feelings are safe
and stress is at it's highest

it's better to stay home
where you can hate yourself in peace
and wish for death alone.
i've been keeping this private for a while, idk
 Jan 2014 KILLME
y i k e s
it's better to just stay home
where everything is familiar
and nothing is uncomfortable

it's better to stay home
where you feelings are safe
and stress is at it's highest

it's better to stay home
where you can hate yourself in peace
and wish for death alone.
i've been keeping this private for a while, idk
 Jan 2014 KILLME
Nat Lipstadt
It's near to midnight,
and the work week fright,
so let's last-raise our glass,
and be upstanding,
let the words of
sleep-steeped prose of
a younger poet
rest our heads,
leading us to wander
off to sleep,
where we meet and greet
our poems borning
in their rawest form:


*can we walk
swaying like the tide,
along the damp, moon-lit breast of the beach
and fill the empty bottles in our clenched fingers
with lavender and red ocher,
a pallet of dawn
reflecting off glass?

can we...
drape ourselves in hanging hammocks under a
wide eyed sky?

i only want to listen to the distant roar
of water attacking sand,
like soft, silk whispers in a
salt canopied bed,
crickets chirping through the night time
warmth,

and tropical, sleeping
breath
slowly unleashed.
Saudade "Aching"

a talent beyond belief
 Jan 2014 KILLME
Nat Lipstadt
you are just girl enough,
to be a real man...

so stand by me,
be a, be my man-girl,
shave that leathery face,
close and tight,
so I can kiss it smooth,
in front of everybody.

Go off to war, Cyrano,
write me love letters of
incredible tenderness,
poems as yet undreamt
come to me raggedy-man whole,
just enough girl in my man,
to make us both,
deliriously,
weep publicly.

Go ahead man,
write your beloved,
songs of the wars that worry you so,
that you don't show,
you think, I don't know,
but I am tough man tough enough,
plenty~enough,
to be yours,
not just the
woman, but that woman,
your beloved.

that bulge in your rear pocket,
not your wallet,
it's just some pocket tissues
you've been saving
for our reunion.

if you are afraid,
be not, be relieved,
you are just
girl enough,
to be a real man,
and I,

*well, I am tough man tough enough,
plenty~enough,
to be yours,
not just the woman,
but that woman,
your beloved
For WDE- 40
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