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Broken recognizes broken.
Two broken souls will find each other,
and hang on for life.
If broken recognizes broken
and I am alone,
am I really broken
or,
have I just not found
someone as broken as me yet?
It never gets old,
Even when the injury is nothing odd,
We never get used to it,
Its even worse when you can't even move to your favourite beat,
All you can do is just lay down on a seat,
Brings about anguish,
One which you can't really distinguish
From the previous one,
Because the feeling never gets old to anyone,
Makes us mad, >:O
And our loved ones  sad :(
Pain,pain,pain,
Despite all this,physical pain
Is way less than emotional pain.
I'm not in pain now,but hey we've all been there..I guess living requires more than strength.
shallow people
seemingly unaware
reviled most
by themselves
deceitful reflectors
loathsome lonesome
interlocutors
lurking
in their own
shadows
devouring affection
utterly incapable
of reciprocity
Every now and then I bump into this type who charm the pants off me - well not quite! - and I have to ask myself to slow the f down Timmy! These are the "shape shifters" who seem to have an uncanny ability to find my tender spots and tap them to their own advantage- if only for the sake of stoking their ego or whatever bizarre agenda they might have. I don't try to figure them out - but time exposes them if they are genuine or not.
 Sep 2016 LifeBeauty13
Traveler
I do believe
Mental strength
Is forged
In the dysfunctional family unit

So remember
It doesn't matter
If all hope is gone
Ya better be reaching
For that last piece of chicken

Or you'll be going to bed
   Hopeless and hungry...
Traveler Tim
I meant this only as a joke.
I was blessed to have one piece of chicken.
a cold winter blast
two songbirds boldly took flight
eloquent silence
Sometimes haiku is utterly powerful and transcendent in its compactness and simplicity
you were only
good
at beginnings
you always
destroyed
yourself
just when
you were
touched
by the beauty
of your friendships
anchors to your restless soul
your broken heart
won't hold
it landed
delicately
retracting
its wings slowly
i grabbed
a puff of yellow
pigment
then
quiet stillness
i had just
caught
myself again
Read a great book - most of which went over my head - Godel, Escher, Bach by Hofstadter. This is a attempt at a poetic representation of an Escher infinite loop geometries!
we're bare
we're naked
scratched
and torn
our tongues
still sharp
rip at our
souls
where do we go...
so full on empty
where do we go...
so full on empty
The poet's path is a lonely torturous introspective pilgrimage into the depths of the divine and the demonic.
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