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 Dec 2014 Bassam A
Naomie
Her blade is the one
                                                 that slits your throat .
His blood is the one
                                                  that gives her a red coat .

Her breast are the ones
                                                 that lure you in .
The biggest room is where
                                                 the torture will begin .


The sheets are the ones
                                                 that muffle a scream .
The lights are the ones
                                                  that causes a dead eye's gleam.

Beware , beware
                                                  of the woman in red .
For she is the forsaken
                                                 Assassin*.
Last poem of the year ♥
And here they come with their beautiful demeanour ,with their empty eyes laced with an allure stronger then the forces which construct our physical forms.

They speak in perfect sequence as if it had be rehearsed but I've heard these words before, of course, they've been here before they're regulars to my bar, filled with my bottled emotions.

They spoke of no wonders or such tacky things they spoke of a peace unparalleled, a welcome change to my current state of mind, a place where there is "no more judgment", "no more ridicule","no more lies" and "no more death" a place where I can be myself.

As they imbibed themselves with my fermented hopes, dreams and beliefs they grew bolder with each bottle they emptied.

"How can you live in this place it's a cesspool, so cluttered so unsure"

it's my home I play with the cards life has dealt me-

"ah there is the problem you are bound by life why not be free?".

I see no other path.

"there is".

they slide me an object,

"keep the change"

and they left.

the object was a box reading "the tool of your salvation" it had a note  end the lie, end your __.
I closed up shop,they are right, it was time for a change,
So this is my good bye.
There is no death after death
I was at the edge.
She pulled me back and sobered me why couldn't i do that for her
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jenni
Literature
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jenni
Like a book, you can open me up and try to read me. But only one who truly invests in studying my pages can get to the sole purpose of my meaning. The meanings that mold me and create my spirit. Only then can one begin to understand. To all others I am the book that causes you to skim and run your fingers thru the words rather than truly seeing the words for what they are. Depth and explanations. Do not try to read me, you will not understand.
-JLC
I wrote this about myself tonight. :)
People are hard to analyze,
With the angry way they talk and act ,
Though you have committed no offense against them,
Is this behavior geneticaly just a fact?

My mind cannot understand at all,
Their attitudes so hostile,
You think one could self restrain,
But for most that's just not possible,

Retaliation must be verbalized,
They cannot just refrain,
An unnesasary audible word shoots forth,
Exploding from in their brain,

Over some word or act misunderstood,
But too it they MUST respond,
When the best action they could have taken,
Would have been to just let it alone,

But they will not self restrain,
They are not willing to digress,
The only explanation I can find,
Is they want a fight I guess.
RLB
I wrote this while trying to understand certain family members and friends bad attitudes. Still I don't understand .
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
Marka Acton
When the toilet flushes
        the water goes down a little slow
Doesn't look bad enough to worry about
        so you tell yourself, “It will be OK.”
The next day the flush is not getting better,
        it is far worse….
Waiting for the moment you’re stressed & hurried
        then a massive eruption occurs!
Leaving a brown lumpy disaster all over the floor.

Disgusting you say? I’d agree!
        But we humans do it to ourselves all the time.

We get upset about something little
        that won’t go away
It continues to pester and because it nags
        the next small slight sticks a little more
Knowing we need to utilize the plunger
        Helping these issues find release
But we don’t, we deny forgiveness without
        understanding that it was never for them.
It was so the excrement doesn't overflow
        leaving a mess too difficult to clean up.
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
DMorenoCamargo
Kiss me
If you dream of me
Kiss me
Tenderly
Maybe
Someday
When I dream of you
You'll be kissing me
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
HeyThereLefty
I received an email today
with some of your last thoughts and words.
You wanted to change the world
but you are now no more.
I have never met you,
spoke with you,
seen you face to face.
But in reading your words,
I have found common ground.
You will never know me
and I will never know you.
While I’m still here
still stealing breaths while I can,
I want this to be clear...
You are my friend
and you have changed my world.
I just want to pay my respects.
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
curlygirl
A poet wants...
    Someone who adores everything they've ever written
    (because it means they adore us)
But a poet needs...
      Someone who's honest, who tells us when it's not our best work
      (because it makes the good work even more special)
A poet wants...
    Someone to hold close every night. Someone who loves to have poems breathed into their collarbone while they sleep
     (because it inspires long love poems)
But a poet needs...
      Someone who spends a few nights away. Someone who forgets to call occasionally
       (because it inspires real poems)
A poet wants...
    Everything to be perfect. To be able to edit and rewrite life as it happens, so we never have to feel pain
    (because then we wouldn't have to feel embarrassed about the unshared poems in our journals)
But a poet needs...
    Pain. Imperfection. Mistakes. Life.
     (because it allows us to write to feel to forgive to learn. To bleed out our heartbreak with ink and parchment. To reach out to each other with words)
All because a poet thrives on the difference between *want
and **need
 Dec 2014 Bassam A
Mercury Chap
I wonder why
I was ever gifted with
This life, and with a sigh,
I'd say whatever gift you give me
My mind will be shifted
Towards the dark side.

I wonder why
I ever made friends,
I am so shy
My friendship soon ends
Even with myself.

I wonder why
I want to escape
From this dark land
I want to scrape
All the scars I have
And start a new life
In a new place.

I wonder why
People say things
Which makes me want to cry.

I wonder why
I try to stay strong
When I know if I cry
I can make others think they are wrong,
Then they will pity me
And they will apologise
But I wonder why
I don't want a fake apology.

I wonder why
I like to be polite
To people
Even when I know about the harm they gave me
I wonder why
I like to help
Even when I know they don't deserve it.

I wonder why
I like to be different
I don't want to be the one
Who only thinks about oneself.

I wonder why
I want to show the world
What love could do,
Even if you're arch enemies
You can't love each other, says who?

I wonder why
I think so deep
Even when my friends tell me to stop
I walk down in my mind
In this road so steep
In which I never want myself to stop.

I wonder why**
I feel like exploring my own mind
There are so many places I've found in here
There are so many places to explore
There are so many discoveries I have shared
There are so many discoveries more
To share with all the one's who care
To read all my thoughts.
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