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The Dead Poet Nov 24
The innumerable ties, that you gave me.
The childish tricks, that you deceived me.
I'd rather be dead, then forgotten.
The Dead Poet Nov 23
Our love is made of unspoken silence,
Closed lips that age and ripen,
inside our broken heart.
Our heart which weeps the soul,
agonizing, arduous, still. .  
why, do we keep it in,
only to sustain this anguish,
hundreds of words , to three, to silence.
The Dead Poet Nov 19
Remember, the cold desert breeze.
The strange silence  after the cicada's song has gone to sleep.
Bare concrete floors, a broken down door.
An old computer desk with D+J carved into the wood.
Beat up old bed, with a lone gaga poster on the wall.
How, we thought we were "different",
When you'd tell me on the phone, "its going to be okay, I'll run away with you".
I dreamed of a warm home, now I have three.
I dreamed of a car, now I have four.
I dreamed of money, now I have too much to count.
I was cold,
But at least I had you.
from diapers until 23. . . we were always together . .
Almost a decade later and I wonder if you are still up there
gazing at me.
    If you are proud of who I became.
The Dead Poet Nov 18
I'm sorry for saying I love you. . .
Can we go back to yesterday,
when we were best friends?
The Dead Poet Nov 18
If I smiled more the first night,
If I laughed at your joke on the third birthday party we celebrated,
If I tried harder.
each night is the same,
a different memory, a different critique If . .
What could be different?
Where is the fault?
If I changed that minute detail.

Would you have stayed ꨄ
The Dead Poet Nov 11
Moonlight, you which gazes down on me . . .mockingly.
I see your light, I see your smile, I see your mockery.
I kick, scream, reach , plead , gasp for air,
in this ocean of regret, age, and despair.
"Let me be free", "Let me escape"
But this is no fairy tail, this is life.
From a child who cried when they could not finish the lunch their mother worked so hard to buy.
To a man, who's shackles of love, family, devotion and pride only pull me down deeper, deeper, deeper into my own excruciating extremities.  

What are these feelings of longing, of fear, of despair, that have yet to occur?Why do they hold me?
What is this anxiety?
Dear heart, please change your pulse only for me,
let me be free, let me forget all their faces, let me be me. . .
I plead, I plead and I plead. . .
No one is listening, Nobody cares. . .
Only the moon which gazes upon me notices, but only to mock me. .
The peach tree died today,
dried from inside,
there is no butterflies, no bees, no birds that feast.
lie to me & tell me its okay.
Invent a story or two,
tell me the tap broke, tell me you fell asleep.
Just don't speak the unspoken truth, that you were busy with them.
As I was away dreaming of our future white picket fence. . .
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