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I rinse from my tears, when I got home
Don a black fur, coffee streaked on it, hours back
When we isolated from apiece, weeping
Reminiscences drizzling, cold and warm.

You came into vision, gloomed
My eyes were sealed
Whispering, the lot has altered
You and me, terminated.

In the vein of a tree
Whirling you and me
Slowly, sailing into the deep sea
Where float countless mystery.

Unsurpassed things are memories
Blissful among the alluring winds
Afraid among the moaning waves
Lashing and hammering through my wits.

Hope confers my heart
That mending is no less than an art
Love is the cure that slumps hate apart
Time and again, I wish I could go back to the start.
How blameless is that stone lying beneath the sky beside the shore
Sway of woe showering up to him
Indignity, nope
Kicked to the depth
By someone he cared about
Memories scintillating as he’s drowning down
The happiest laughs and the saddest tears screening up
He’s down, drowned in his mind
Heart trying to swim
Hope falling ill.
His heart was full of love
He loved her ton
For her it was only fun.
Love is more painful
Then a shot by a gun
Slowly setting was the sun.
He and the darkness
Gone astray
As the moon came in
His world was she, as he thought
Soon he learnt, it wasn’t her.
We live our lives
People live theirs
Prominently, we should be ours
Rather being someone else’s
Live every moment with the ones that truly cares
Not with the ones who give a ****.
Always remember
Loving is not easy, nor living
Like breathing
Keep doing.
 May 2017 Mat Jones
Kq
insecurity
 May 2017 Mat Jones
Kq
the insecurity that intersects
your fingers and my figure
is enough to spin a whirlpool
seven miles wide

i rage at your taste for me
but i am cyclical, stuck
i am a fly on your calf
you do not even notice my thrashing

to feel you are ugly in the arms of a lover
to feel you are nothing in the clenches of another
frankly,
i think is quite common.
 May 2017 Mat Jones
a m a n d a
some people
are just
not very smart.

i'm talking adults.

they just don't have the
it, the
thing
that all the smarties
seem to have.
but they do seem
to talk a good game.

a key component is missing.
things don't add up.

and it's a
strange thing to witness,
to come to terms with,
to accept.

but let me tell you
the strangest thing
the most maddening of things:

observing other people
who you otherwise know
as smart people
fall prey
to one of the dummies.
the liars.
the snakes in the grass.

observing you
in this state of
sickness
and dementia
and delusion
is unreal.

you don't seem to be aware
that you are sick at all.

and in watching the
contortions you will make
for this fraud,
i see that stance
you have taken
on me.
to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.
 May 2017 Mat Jones
xandria
stay
 May 2017 Mat Jones
xandria
after the last time I made the foolish mistake of believing that everyone has good intentions
I promised myself I wouldn't trust anyone again
but, you see
the thing is that I didn't have to.
there's something about those eyes that reminds me of the way mother nature lovingly replenishes the earth's soil with rain.
and the first time I saw them, I knew I didn't have the option of loving you.
upon meeting you, I immediately fell in love with you.
trust me, I curse at myself every time I sleepily type "I love you more" at 1 a.m. when we're both too **** stubborn to close our eyes and drift off. but, for once, a large part of me believes that you'll stay.
 May 2017 Mat Jones
Traveler
(Warning)

Some of my best writings
Were written while
Squeezing one off
I never suffer
From constipation
Or writer's block

Sometimes
When I'm alone
I feel a strange desire
Thinking about
Something you said
That set my soul on fire


Some of my thoughts
I will never share
Deeper than madness
Lost in despair
Where there's
Too much info
To disclose
Beyond my simple
Bowel movement
Prose...
Traveler Tim
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