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 Dec 2018 Stephen
 Dec 2018 Stephen
If our love is forbidden,
then you must be
a rose petalled crime scene.

My own special episode of Law and Order;
Special victims unit.

A chalk outline
made of rainbow colors.

Ink stains your skin,
just like police reports.

Knife sharp love
murders the bad,
while forever preserving
the good.

Emotions in full bloom,
now surrounded by police sirens.

You are middle of the night excitement.
Escapes and otherwise.

You are a law I am willing to break;
my rose petalled crime scene.
 Dec 2018 Stephen
 Dec 2018 Stephen
Your gaze are empty hallways,
made of marble,
elegant stone swirls like

Empty like your promises, but oh so beautiful.
 Dec 2018 Stephen
Empty Haiku
 Dec 2018 Stephen
Even when I seem
to be surrounded by souls,
I still feel alone.
 Nov 2018 Stephen
Olivia McCann
I slurp down
a salty golden liquid
full of lacerated noodles and flakes
which glisten in their own yellowed oil spill.

I tip the bowl to my mouth
and it fills my stomach from the bottom.

She's made it just for me,
just in time for my despair
although she didn't know that
when she made it.

I'm sick!
I tell her.
I was.

Fever, achy joints,
pits of nausea, and silicone pain,
the works.

I'm getting better.
there is just a dull ache left
but I am still sick
in the head.

A head where plays
a tug of war between
anguish with a goofy hat
and comedy with a noose.

My body gets dragged along with
my chemical eruptions
both biological
and habit-forming,
and my body grows tired.

The soup goes down quick;
the main course after leftovers from lunch.
And all of it fizzles in my belly.

A cigarette might help all of it a little.
Except for the despair.
The soup is for my despair.
There's a picture in my head
That I call "Perfect"

I close my eyes every morning
And imagine someone beside me

The someone is kind and rested
And smiles when our eyes meet

They reach out and touch my face
With the gentleness of the rising sun

And try out a rough "Good Morning"
Before clearing their throat

We kiss,
And it's softer than the pillows

We embrace,
And it's warmer than the blankets

We ****,
And it's hotter than that sun

I open my eyes to the reality
Of the choices I have made

And I try not to hate it
Too much
If you're keeping track, my poems are mostly just fancily-stacked prose. It's okay because that's all I'm good at.
Unless you count the crushing regret
Insecurity, anxiety, depression, loneliness.
They linked together, built a cage and trapped me inside.
I pound at the bars,
Shouting for help.
Just when I’m ready to give up
The door breaks open.
“I’m free,
I’m really free!”
I shout as I run for the trees.
Tears running down my face,
Hope bubbling in my chest,
Could this really be it?
Could I be stronger than them?
The sunlight stings my eyes.
I’m running so fast,
My muscles are on fire.
I pause for a moment to catch my breath.
The sadistic laughter echoes all around me.
My heart drops into my stomach.
I’m not free,
It was just a dream.
The monsters with their twisting smiles,
Laugh at my pain
And place another lock on my cage.
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