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Silently
drinking gin
and tequila,
warmly
greetings
from spoons
and fork
of the diners
I become lively,
punch the jukebox
for that shaking boom,
Dance to worldly live,
as my eyes open up,
to awakening of the hive,
beats to curb falls,
Juice of reckoning,
and she will slip
past another
pass out drunkard.
Chronic Alcoholism is a terrible disease I am fighting, I hope to overcome it soon.
Growth of flowers
in your hair
on a day
of mixed weather
it doesn't care,
brown eyes
are sunny
hair dripping
blondie, shivering
wet with showers,
A gentle delight,
A wrapped
warmth of towel
forecast.
A poem about the best girl-friend I had when I was 36. She was 34 and my soul-mate. I still dream of her sometimes.
Inspiration - I Said Hi by Amy Shark
The hunter
hunts the predator
conditioned
to a disease
of war-torn
memories
of being a kid.
The Witcher
travels further
thrill
of capitalism
to exploited
bliss,
Obsession
with
kicking deeper
a child,
born like this.

Sometimes
monsters
give birth
to monsters,
Rages
of a demon
can unleash
confrontingly
upon release.

The hunter,
drives him
underground,
The win
being
youtube fame
for him
and a freeing
of all the cravings
of the perpetrator
born of heresy
for a "prized" victim
Lately there have been groups formed to confront child ****** predators but they are you-tube mobs not working with the police.  Generally, they only care about the money they earn from youtube subscribers and not the kids.
As the suspects are often unlawfully detained or even assaulted, their evidence is not admissible in court for illegal enticement. They may get named and shamed but it drives them underground and they either stop or they learn from the mistake. If they only learn from it, they will be more careful next time and probably have a better chance of success of their predatorial behavior.
The humiliation can simply make them worse as monsters, drive any empathy down to lower levels and reduced compassion.
The wooden boards
of this old harbour
reeks of blood
stains,
seeping through
the gaps.
Splashing
into
a crystal
but yet
blurred mirror.
Who we were,
before the jump
now forgotten,
Drowning
into red seas.
I think many of us feel this way and writing about it helps us. Life is not easy, for sure. Suicide is never the answer. What doesn't **** you, does make you adapt better.
When it's my time to go
do I go alone ?
Who's to guide me ?
Who's there to open the gate ?
Who's there to say welcome home ?

The days have been torn from the book
There's nothing between the covers
but that dubious look

No hands of man can reach me
No clock can measure
No wind will chill
No thoughts remain
No tears left unwashed
by rain

I will go to the music
I will crave the light
I will not fear
Nor lose sight

Between the day and dark
I will choose to follow
If I lose the way
It will be my sorrow

So let my hand go
Whisper something
beneath your breath
I will see you there
beyond the grip of death
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