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Nostalgia May 20
These hands that tremor,
Can’t hold your fragile demeanor.
For they only know doubt and suspicion.
They do not understand the anger and sadness boiling up.
Only the instinct to drop anything that might burn these cautious hands.
•  •  •
These hands that tremor,
Can’t fix the shards that they broke.
For the pieces are too fine and sharp.
They bleed and cut at the attempt to change.
Only when these hands are lost and gone, you can build yourself up again.
Nostalgia May 20
Time aged us like wine.
A beautiful and tasteful drink that could be savored by those who seek it.
But I didn’t like it. It was too sour.
So aged like wine we poured down the drain.
Nostalgia May 17
Emotions run dry.
The water runs dry.
And I am no longer the perfect flower you wanted on that Christmas night.
My petals are torn and wilted. The color faded.
I’m afraid I can’t stay longer for where I’m headed.
So throw me, toss me in the pile of compost.
And just maybe I’ll be the flower of your dreams once again.
  May 17 Nostalgia
Jimmy silker
Will the days
All fall away
Or is it
Just this one
Here to stay?
  May 17 Nostalgia
McKenna
It’s getting loud—
Can barely hear
I’ve been drowning
In all my tears
Words convincing
They cut like a knife
I’m barely wincing
Another: girl vs. life
It’s my head that’s the problem
It knows what it’s done
I’ve hit rock bottom
And it’s no longer fun
I tried to drown it out
But it’s tattooed in my brain
And it’s making me doubt
And now I’m in pain—
It’s getting loud in here
And I want it to stop
  May 17 Nostalgia
Nolan Bucsis
I can't find anything
Meaningful to say
To you
my former self.

And, if life is living the same story
Over and over.
I'd like this one
To end.

I've memorized the script.
The plot is atrocious
And I'm long past dead.

At the curtain call.
  May 17 Nostalgia
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                  Bring Me the Head of Peter Rabbit

My little dog has gotten into the habit
Of dining at dusk on delicious rabbit

Last night she blitzed past me as I opened the door
And left me a gift on the bedroom floor

I blinked when I saw at the foot of the bed
With its eyes still open – a poor rabbit’s head

Luna-Dog looked up and pawed at my knee
As if to ask, “Aren’t you proud of me?”

I reminded her gently (no need to fume)
That we take our meals the dining room
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