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 Nov 2017 Michelle M
Oculi
I know now, or in a sense...
I've always known, I've always known
That I don't care about real life
It's hard to care if you never were.
But if I'm not real...
Will people care for me?
Will death just accept me?
Or do I have to stay and tell my story?
Either way, I'm more than unreal, less than real.
And I'm more conscious than I've ever been...
In a sense, I'm alive.
There's a thin line between obsession and love
Often hard to discern
Obsession sits in the bathroom while you ****
Love shoves a magazine under the door
 Nov 2017 Michelle M
Kevin
lovely,
 Nov 2017 Michelle M
Kevin
be little with me
as the sun rises and sets
and seasons become
our way of keeping time

be little with me
as if our nights will never end
and dreams are seen
as interruptions to this existence

be little with me,
while the world turns
another day old,
seemingly unfamiliar to itself

be little with me,
like an ant marching toward the edge of a finger,
feeling its way to knowing
a world yet so unknown.

be little with me
while some earthly feature holds our lying bodies
and the sky above busts with colorful clouds
and the breeze sweeps clean our toes

lovely, be little with me
today, tomorrow, and the next thing
before time reminds us
we are little no more
If not to touch the earth
and know your sun kissed skin,
if not to chase your shadow
through every place you've been.

If not to stand on mountains,
howling from the peaks,
if not to lie in fields
as melodic whispers weep.

If not to dance in forests
where tangled roots take hold,
if not to bathe in oceans
while eternities unfold.

If not to touch the earth,
upon me you would shine
and for that fleeting moment
I could call you mine.
Dedicated to a very special friend of mine who comes on here often hoping that I have posted something, no matter how long I have been absent. I hope that this will brighten your day.
I try to hide from the places in my head...
But running is not an option...
Facing the pain is like reaching out to grab a dozen roses only to be stabbed with thorns...
I used to say...I will worry about the pain later....
Left ******, leaking a trail across my paths,
Everywhere I look the ground is painted red....
I close my eyes... but the smell of lead perfumes the air and my fingers are wet with the essence.....
I can not run from my mind.
So I hide in the shadows lost at my thoughts...
The memories are a burden to bear,
I’m hurting....
Hurting...
Yet no one is there.
Why haven’t I been found yet?
I open my eyes....looking down at my tightly, clenched fist, dead roses, dried blood, leaves withering...
All this time I’d been holding on to pain,
When my mind could have told my body...
It’s ok...to let go...of it...

— The End —