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  Apr 2015 Tuesday Pixie
Chris
.

In everything new,
some old will linger still in
memories we share
  Apr 2015 Tuesday Pixie
Rachel Dyer
I would like to say I fought you off
I would like to say I wasn't charmed
That I pushed you away with a scoff
That I was beautifully armed

I would like to say my choosing you took time
I would like to say this thing we have created is all mine
That winning me over was a rigorous uphill climb
That this falling I am feeling was a choice, a purposefully crossed line

But I have never been a very good liar
And you see every inch of my soul with every adoring look
And with every kiss you take me higher
With every touch I tried to hide my fingers that shook

I would like to say I could walk away anytime I wanted
No consequences, no tears, just like a tumbleweed blowing through
But falling is like being hunted
You don't know it yet but someone already has you
Tuesday Pixie Apr 2015
And the wave is crashing
Oh here comes another
Well, this is no fun at all
To think of it!
That I wouldn't be a sailor.
Oh and again.
Up we go.
Rile me over ocean
Drown me once again.
Is this how it ought to be?
My existence has a purpose -
But only to suffer.
And it crashes!
A downward spiral for sure now
What is this cause?
Oh lofty emotion may the waves take you
And me both
I could do with drowning
I really could
Before another wave hits harder still
Bring me the calm of the depth below
This is an excerpt of my minds rambling. My mind's voice is often quite sarcastic - so it should be read in a melodramatic kind of voice
Tuesday Pixie Apr 2015
If
If I could catch
My minds flight
Grind into ink
Splay across paper
If I could hammer it down
Locked still and tight
Would it only show
A desperate moment
A fleeting glimpse
A window
A still life
Missing context
Missing completeness
Missing truth
Tuesday Pixie Apr 2015
Snarl of blood and antiseptic
Glint off needles,
Buzz of a drill
I hover in the doorway
Anxious, uncertain

Marked faces, legs, arms
Metallic attachments
Shaved off hair
I stick out
Pure, untouched

Wave of tossing heads
Vibrations uplift
Strangers unified
I am alive
Filled, electrified.

He blends life into still forms
An exchange: green for a frame of darkness
           And,
Other worldly as it may seem,
          This
*Is where he fits
  Apr 2015 Tuesday Pixie
Kelsey
Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's  being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news,  printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.
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