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  Nov 2014 a
Zelda Morgan
Jamie wakes up
A gunshot from within
Eyelids crash into the cage

Jamie gets up
The heavy shadow also rises
The unwanted, only company

Jamie takes a shower
Water pouring hot and clean as angry man's blood
The bars cannot be washed nor melted

Jamie, the golden child
Jamie's gold is turning into stone

Jamie takes a bus ride
Circumventing the forever nameless faces
Are their shields up too?

Jamie gets to school
Nails buried deep within the palms
A secret buried deep within it's ugliest of kingdoms

Jamie laughs much too loudly
For it takes an earthquake to cover the storm
It's relentless shivers just won't die

Jamie, the martyr
The crown of thorns restlessly resting on Jamie's head

Jamie walks back
Way back
Yesterday's sun - today's dark cloud

Jamie listens to a song
Swimming in the pool of ease
A pool much too shallow for Jamie's big fat shadow

Jamie stops to smell the flowers
But finds none
Only a concrete meadow swallows Jamie's feet

Nobody ever considers Jamie
But this evening Jamie is considering

Jamie comes back home
And finds all hopes lay fast asleep
Or is it the reek of death?

Jamie undresses, and then some more
The essence without thick skin collapses
It's tortured and it tortures
It's weak and it weakens
It's broken and it brakes

The menacing trigger
The blood flow
The bare images of hot white pain
It all drifts away
As Jamie drifts into sleep

Jamie, the divine soul tainted
Much too used to taking bullets

Jamie, the heart that bravely fought

Jamie, for who would have thought so many demons
could live within an angel?
  Nov 2014 a
Zelda Morgan
What was once bright now turns to shady
A lady dressed in lace
Will you embrace her summon of dark?
The final mark awaits those who dare

In the unknown who will thrive,
Close their eyes and dive into the cold
Fiercely unfold her sheets of night
Conquer the might and be her slave?

She bites her icy lips
And moves her hips to the sounds of wind
Who will lay pinned to her bed of dead leaves?

Surrender to nature's creation
The sweet ******* of her winter realm
Let her overwhelm your last summer thoughts
  Nov 2014 a
Riley
Write because you need to. Because something must be said. Write because you have no way of speaking what’s in your head. Write because no one can feel the way that you feel — no one can see the world like you. Write because perspective is important and there are too few perspectives in the world. Write because there’s not enough time in the day. Write because you don’t know who to talk to. Write because your head and your heart know you better than any person ever will. Write because there are people out there that don’t have to opportunity to write. Because there’s not much going on. Write because you forget what it’s like to feel something. Write because you feel too much of everything. Write solely for the purpose of appreciating the beauty of words. Write because someday you won’t remember how anymore. Write because there’s not much to say, but there’s so much to be written. Write because you’re full of original thought, or because you’ve never had one in your life. Write because the best world comes from the type of people who put their ideas on paper. Write because you sometimes are scared of the way that you think, but you’ve never been scared of a computer screen. Write because feeling something is RIGHT, and putting words to it is beautiful. Because there’s not enough people in the world taking advantage of this opportunity. Write because there’s nothing in the world that you love more. Write because you’re good at it and you’re bad at it, and sometimes you’re everything in between. Write because the spaghetti that is your brain just can’t sort itself out anymore. Write because you care about something. Write because there are important and poignant things in your life, and you need to appreciate them. Write because one day you will not be the same person and this will reflect on who you have become. Write because there are so many beautiful people in the world and not enough of them have been documented. Write because there is so much of you, so overwhelmingly much, that you can’t keep it in anymore. Write because ideas will get buried. Write because emotion is more powerful than anything in the world. Write because your intentions are so different than every other human being. Write because music has moved you. Write because there’s no guarantee of tomorrow. Write because who you are is so much of what you think, and so often what you neglect to say. Write because there are days when you won’t know who you are anymore and this might give you a slim idea. Write because, no matter what happens to you, no one can take away your brain. Write because spilling your guts to people just isn’t practical. Write because you have a purpose. Write because you DON’T have everything figured out, and you won’t any time soon. Write because there is such a need in this great big world for people who aren’t afraid to write.


Write because you need to, more than anything in the world. Write.
  Nov 2014 a
Riley
I’m not me anymore. I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do, can’t be. I am still, and silent, and sad. So achingly, horrifyingly sad. Everything hurts, but nothing hurts at all, because I’m absolutely numb. I curl up and try to keep all of everything inside of me from falling apart. I don’t even want to open my eyes.

Why is winter my kryptonite?
a Nov 2014
I'm afraid of you
And afraid of your ideals
And afraid of your thoughts,
your words,
your shields.
And I'm afraid of what
you think of me
I'm afraid of how much
I think of you
And I'm afraid for when
you tell me the
truth
one is the loneliest number indeed
a Nov 2014
It's weird now
because there's a hidden meaning behind everything I say
"How are you?" means "I don't care but I'll ask," whilst
"How are you?" means "Please tell me, I wan't you to be okay,"

And whilst I see all those footsteps in the snow and then point them out,
I'm not saying "Look, so many footsteps on top of each other," I'm saying
"Look, there are so many people on this world, and look how they trod on
each other,"

But then again, I am a poet
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