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I fell in love with you one night in September
When crickets sang an ode to Autumn
When Gaea’s palettes matured to tones of herself
to the leaves, falling like tired angels

I remember the dying painter spitting his last few colors onto the sky,
Warm scarlets that professed themselves to be deep ceruleans and violets
When we watched, spaced, from the yellowed creaking picket fence
Wind chimes sighing in the subtle breeze.

You were the artist, a divine manifestation,
Wisps of hair breaking through your perfected face
An ocean of complexion in your eyes, hiding secrets
Reap the grains of my affection, throw it in the pitch

But I was colorless, achromatic
A beige canvas
You played me with your hues and tones and tints and
splatters of pigment

Sometimes, I’m painted vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and
pondering in sunflower fields, gentle raindrops resting on our shoulders,
crackling bonfires, leaping flames.
Pleasant comfort.

colors fade.

Vibrancy grows faint under grey.
Winter frost slithered to your heart, turned jet-black
Boreas’ wind swept you away.
Tobacco-scented Icarus, you’re bound to fall.

Ah, snowy white procession of death, take me!
Bare skeletons of trees shiver in the morning chill
A heaviness carries the shattered ice of your eyes
Unforgiving, piercing, daggers to my soul.

You fell in love with him one night in December, and I wait.
Minutes liquify, oozing to hours, seeping through cracks of my sanity.
a small project
 Nov 2017 Matthew A Cain
Carina
I am the highest mountain,
my tips tickling the sky.
I am the flickering candle,
that brings light to your eye.
I am the smallest rain drop,
that makes tarns and rivers grow.
I am the twinkling stars,
that show you which way to go.
I am the current of the tides,
and the moon that makes them change.
I am a gift or favor given,
without expecting any exchange.
You see I am not only human,
I own nothing you can measure;
but I am made of stardust,
the universe's greatest treasure.
To remind all of you how special, unique and beautiful you are, for you are made of stardust!
Square One of Chutes & Ladders  (single life after thirty)


~~~


For Tina
the game rules wink & explain that should one
(minimum number of players *1!
)
land on a chute, the non-trivial risk of returning to square one was no risk at all but just a fresh direct chance, a new roll of the dice,
a please-do-start-all over, a 2nd maybe to the power of infinity,
quite the accurate inaccuracy, this curse of the slip & fall treadmill

and you're hot smart and hot good looking with a good job,
but the chutes keep on sliding you back to square one,
and the revolutionary trips of over and over again are not
revolutionary at all, voluntary or fun but so *** unfunny, *** emoji-teared smeared, for real ones no longer bother to appear even when you bang your head on kitchen table

the suitor list lengthens even as it grows more abbreviated,
for the longest running one-act play in Manhattan seems to have no dearth of duplicative Stepford men willing to he-be a walk-on, stand-in, stand-by, understudies who want to be on top for one night only, take your applause, your easy-going unguarded openness, run their lines to find the way in to a garden where the fruits never ripen and never fully sweeten, and you can grimace-smile from the familiar **** flavor of resignation, one hand clapping-applauding yourself in your Emmy Best Unsupporting Actress weekend role of a
Stepford Wife

deception, repeating misperceptions and the wrist slitting frustration of the god, how boring is the game playing, and you think
let me rip, me, rip the rule book up, go live in Spain,  
with no plans in hand, learn to drive stick shift and accidentally meet a really good looking man at a roadside cafe whose gentility rocks me in away that I had forgotten was humanly possible and who loves to salsa and speaks to me through dance even though we don't speak a common language, just an uncommon one, then your subway stop arrives and the summer heat seems ever worse

Thursday night is dating website visitation scheduled and sometimes one cannot recall the password, thinking it's
of of these:
shampoo^ rinse repeat

friends cluck sympathetically but cannot locate a decent boyfriend's friend and this chute **** exhausts from numbing familiarity and a plot that never thickens in a city where the emphasis is on the endless, of endless possibilities

and what you fear is not being sad, when the game roll lands you on a chute, winking time to start over, but that the effervesced heat of a new hopeful start is overcome and 'why bother' is the whisper you have been ignoring and only love is just a poem, not a real thing, even though you are the single player, the game wins when you quit

but the 1% chance leads you back to the start, for though
the lottery odds are ridiculous but does not every week
someone else wins at Chutes and Ladders*

4:03am 6/17/17
http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Chutes_and_Ladders

en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Stepford_Wives

^"gonna shampoo that man right out of my hair" South Pacific musical
I slipped up.
I slit cuts.
I didn't mean to.
I drew blood.

I read online
When I was probably just 14 or 15 years old
That most people don't stop until their 20's
And it scared me
But I thought
"No, I'll stop right now"

But I didn't.
I couldn't.

I slipped up.
I slit cuts.
I didn't mean to.
I drew blood.

And now that I'm older
It hurts more to try to hide it
And now that I have people that care about me
Often times they don't understand why this part of my life is still relevant
And all I can say to make them understand is

I slipped up.
I slit cuts.
I just had to.
I drew blood.
Our love is

tortured on

the nightly hour,

unheard and

unseen.

Barely open

for confrontation

or change

we rise with the

sun and

part separate

ways with the day-

break and avoid

peeking curious

eyes.

Our love is

like the Cas'blanca

Lily: dazzling,

pure and shy,

fragrant and sacred,

sea-bound and drenched

like the Mediterranean,

dizzying Jasmines.

Our love is as

tender as Moon

Flowers and

as courageous as

the moon's purloined

silver glow,

sole witness

to our paganistic

nights.

Our love is

like midnight

blooms

only opening

in the dead

of whispers

and hushed sighs,

thighs spread

like petals

of the Lily,

lips scarcely

touching

for fear

of the ghasts

that haunt

the wretchedly

intoxicating

twilight.

Your gentle touch

heals like a Brahma

Kamal, purple and

God-like in

the enchanting

mists of night,

blooming in the chill

and cold, fighting

for survival

without a care

but I'm helpless-

ly self-centred

and protective

and vilely sheltered

like a Pipe Cactus

lashing out

sharp needles

at the prying

eyes, trying

to expose our

suffocating secret

to the damning

of daylight.
I could spend the entirety of my existence searching through the nebulous corners of your subnormal mind.

I could be the ceaseless mist that fogs your colourless eyes when you're lost in your universes.

I could be the drumbeat in your chest like madness before a storm swirling restlessly.

I could be that tenebrous enigma that floods out your words with sighs and frustration.

I could be the annoyance behind your introverted ways. Only I understand that truly!

Please let me be the one to cheer you up.

To sit with you when you're alone.

To glance up through your dark bangs and not be met with your dissatisfaction.

I don't care what you decide.

You'll always be the same.

To me.

I don't care.

I could never be true.

I can never seem sincere to you.

I will never be taken seriously.

I am

d

        r

                o

                        w

                                  n

                                          e

                                                   d

My innards twisted.

You're so unknowingly cruel.

So crude.

So wildly, passionately unfair.

You selfish *****.

You ******* *******.

Notice the world looking through your translucent veils.

You're just a spectre on a caliginous stage of masked villains.

Waiting to be swallowed whole

                                                                          Or simply quartered by the finest of the gods.

Crimson blood staining the dusty wood like the butcher's own meat room.

You're a slab of meat.

Someone's tasty morsel.

But with me, you can be someone's God or Queen.

This world is too cruel for one as beautiful as you.

Too tainted.

Too evil.

Too impure for the divine.

**The truly divine.
Two experiments clashing horribly... Nothing to see here...
You watch as I rot inside my cage
getting lost in a purple haze
Like a mouse stuck in it's maze
wake up late to one of those days

Let's look deep inside
we have nothing to hide
Sidewalks filled with heads
the sought corruption of the walking dead

pillars, columns & staircases
We leave a lasting trace
spread out upon are Peyton Place
You must walk in the almighty's ways

creatures, features & moonlight dealers
Blood soaked skin on their brow
lines formed in their face
Viscous long hanging fangs that bite

Creatures of the night
fallen demonic members that surround
Sound the alarm
not for the faint in hearted

One must humbly bow the knee to pray
the atheist would insist it aught not be this way
Shadows break forth toward a bond of revolt
others seek vengeance and take you to court

Evil minds that plug destruction
torturing their brain washed minds
Satan laughing spreads his wings
a challenge to be free is a question of time
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