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 May 2015 Shysta
Poetic T
He attends the graves, a tear is shed
As he prunes the weeds that grow forth
Names,
Dates,
Year
Of there death,
Freshly dug, not long for this world
He buries them alive
He watches there eventual time past
Life,
Death,
Choosing
The last breath they take,
He sheds a tear upon each passing
"A wooden plague"
Hammered deep to their passing
He looks upon fresh earth,
Handfuls smothered upon his self,
He cries through dirt drenched skin, these
Tears
Are
Purity
That fall upon now dead earth
He gazes upon the many plagues
That read of each moment they are now past,
He sends families the paper of passing
A  picture,
A  moment,
Frozen
In families eyes, The passing he let breath
Breathe its last,
He is the grave digger,
He has many plots  fresh  for the living to die
He will shed many tears that pass In his graveyard
Of the living, and the now **dead.
He buries you in a spot, looked after while death waits, he mourns above
Click below on serial-killer if you wish to read the series
 May 2015 Shysta
epictails
There were so many roses
Still, I chose a thorn
Still I chose* **you
off the grid again
 May 2015 Shysta
Dead Lock
10w
 May 2015 Shysta
Dead Lock
10w
It will be hard
But
It will be worth it
 May 2015 Shysta
Sophie
Or
 May 2015 Shysta
Sophie
Or
Love*
is it a noun or a verb?









*an understatement.
 May 2015 Shysta
sabrina paesler
I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.
 May 2015 Shysta
Madeysin
Love
 May 2015 Shysta
Madeysin
God told me our fingers & skin match like clay & paw prints perfectly. But I rubbed the dust off your wings. I didn't mean to make you not fly.
Screaming banging
 May 2015 Shysta
Jane
-
 May 2015 Shysta
Jane
-
We might as well be.
We might as well exist together.
Mailboy
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