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 Dec 2017 Curtis C
Nylee
my pick
 Dec 2017 Curtis C
Nylee
If I have a choice to be happy
 at every chance I get
                        why do I always pick to be sad?
 Dec 2017 Curtis C
Gabrielle Isa
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
You have forgotten God,
but somehow somewhere deep within
                    still you know
you are His prophet.
spraying holy graffiti on the abandoned midnight walls
of the eternal buildings of the city,
up in smoke the dreams of your yesterdays,
crushing emptied beer cans against railroad tracks,
screaming as the whistle blows,
longing to be,
               longing to be…
just not quite so **** infinitesimal,
driven to insanity in the obscene love for now,
     until your mind collapses into castrophic silent reverie.

Now,
                            now,
                                                   now.
i love you,
     I love you,
           i love you,
you are the prophet,
o lovely singular soul of everything,
               you know what must be.

why have your eyes gone dark,
         why are your visions no more,
you long for the starry magnitude of infinity,
and yet can only make it to the door.
you search in the sounds of the night
in the threads of your carpet,
in the creaks in the walls,
in the hum of the air,
       in the sad blue jazz soul of the yellow-light sidewalks
that cry to the sky, “why this eternity,”
therein lies the mystery of everything,
you know it,
but where is it.
    o prophet, o soul,
why have your eyes gone dark?
you have had the answers from the beginning
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