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Gregory Dun Aer Aug 2017
There's a tightrope in my mind,
everyday I am afraid to fall
and most days I wished I had fallen
a couple of months ago.
I'm just tired of walking
and there's supposed to be
a sunrise to welcome my every step;
but I just can't find it.
I'm not crazy,
I'm just trying to hide away everything;
so if you meet me in person,
remember my smile
because I've spent years with it,
I have spent years with the same smile.
Cracked lines on my face,
this place isn't home and I just
keep on smiling-
till I can't.
Gregory Dun Aer Jul 2017
I tied my mind into something so unkind,
when I gave it time to think of you
and everything you mean to me.
I break like a bark peeling from a tree,
just hoping you could see that I'm here,
not transparent,
visible,
in the flesh,
and yearning to be yours.
I've let demons loose in my mind,
my heart has become the blinded guard
and there is just hell in my life;
nothing but hell.
Gregory Dun Aer Jul 2017
My life is filled with doors that are constantly revolving
I'm always involved in either letting someone leave
or hoping that someone will walk through,
knowing that all I do is stay welcoming,
I'm tired of being the door man always laying dormant,
I'm just another welcome mat.
One lover after the next,
they'd wipe their feet on their exit,
and I'm tired of asking who next is,
because I'm tired of wondering whether every
single one of them regretted it.
Gregory Dun Aer Jun 2017
Mad
If half of the world understood me
       I would be half as mad,
       but twice as sad.
So I prefer being a cosmic unknown,
       because I wouldn't expect-
       anyone to care-
       and that might be the best-
       way to be driven mad.
Gregory Dun Aer Jun 2017
In my mind your fingers were in the gaps of my fingers
we were holding onto timbered dreams of romance
then the floorboards disappeared from underneath
and I am in this weathered storm left thinking-
that somehow someway I wish you could...
I wish you could find a way to love me as I have you...
but the only words that come out speak silence-
'you are beautiful' because that's all I wanted to let you hear.
Theres an ember lighting a pile of papers
that seems to turn rustic a foundation of solid ground
and right now- I'm wondering if love is real,
because if it's real, why does it hurt so much?
Maybe I just wanted the soft illusion to stick a little longer,
maybe I'm not great, maybe I'm not good,
maybe I wasn't trying hard enough,
or maybe I just wasn't enough-
but I do know that ...
I miss you...
not in the way we built our relationship-
I don't miss you in the way that you went to work,
or I went to school...
I miss you in the way that I won't get another chance to miss you,
so I miss you-
but the sun shines on my face,
and I wish I could say its familiar shape stings my eyes,
but right now - I wish I was blind,
I wish I was blind, deaf, and could not talk.
Just so I can say - this is close to death- and I like it.
Gregory Dun Aer May 2017
Fields and farms of roses, each destined to be plucked or cut from its stem.
A rainbow under the covers of incandescence, a myriad of colours to suit a holiday.
Happy Valentines doesn't mean I love you  in the same way it used to, decades ago.
Flowers become a facade of emotions that don't seem to prosper from wandering minds.
I planted some rose seeds in a broken ***, a decrepit chrysalis that houses a blossom and bloom. The roses grew to an enchanting sight and I am disillusioned by the fact that the only options left are to pluck it or cut it. So I choose neither and I leave the roses to wilt in a decrepit cacophonous cemetery.
Gregory Dun Aer May 2017
Twisted times we live in, it is sad really;
people aspire to be just alike models
some get to live the dream and others
fall in gravestones of eating disorders.
New health crazes don't burn the hunger,
they set alight igniting the soul till nothing left
but broken bones, ashes scattered
across seas as pink as blood.
I watch the passerbys sip on poisons
contained in a bottle with promises
that this will bring in the gold,
bring in the women, bring in the fame,
but never discerning the devil
is on his stride, taking his jog just as
passerbys do. It is sad really,
to watch bones and dressed up animate
corpses walk across a stage filled with
estranged eyes. It is sad really,
so I try to spread my happiness as ashes in the wind and tell them they look good.
I don't know if I'm feeding their death
or savouring on their happiness, but
they grin back with gratitude and I
feel none the less grateful. Have I become their poison? I watch with careful eyes, and tell another;
you don't have to change the way you look,
but my words fall on deaf ears as they say, it's my choice.
Do I give them a path to walk,
or do I choose their path?
Who am I to dictate what they should do?
So I sit idle by in a little corner,
drinking my coffee, reading my book and
watching people exsanguinate themselves.
I sip on coffee and pass out happiness
where I can, and where I may not,
I sit idle by drinking coffee, reading books and watching people die.
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