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AJ Feb 2017
Opulence is a whisper
In a forest full
Of clouds
Subtlety is a shout
In this city
Of waning light
AJ Feb 2017
How can people
Love who I've become
When I don't yet know
AJ Feb 2017
The house was big,
Too big for a divorced family of four.
It had sickly, pale yellow siding
With cracking paint and a long archway
That led to a round, asphalt-covered

Most days the trees
That rolled out into the little valley
Alongside it were barren and spiny,
And you could see through them, all
The way to the quiet road that cut
Through the growing houses

If you were lucky, you would have seen
A few kids shooting airsoft guns,
Running through the fallen leaves,
Leaping atop all the muddy mounds of dirt
Next to the creek, but they
Have lost contact

If you were to climb up the little green hill
That rose just next to the mouth
Of the house’s driveway,
Cresting along the edge of the cul-de-sac,
You would see a greenhouse,
Brown, with splotches of dirt
On the windows.

If you opened its flimsy door,
Which was usually locked,
You would see all the uncut tomato plants,
All the sage and spices,
And you would probably wonder
Why they were not harvested

But the people who owned it
Usually bought their groceries
Rather than grew them.
AJ Feb 2017
I have tasted
the nectar of love
that spills out of wildflower stems
and creeps out of caves into

It sleeps in every vein
I can track on my arm

It is sweet
like aging wine

like summer sunrise

like my father's chuckle
like the crescent
always dangling
on my mother's lips

But for the life of me
I can never hold it
long enough
to remember what it feels like
AJ Jan 2017
In my eyes
You see brilliant
But I feel
Like pale
Most days
AJ Jan 2017
The sunshine beats down
******* your
Rough skin
You told yourself
To give up
Blood and sin

Down you said
You'd try to ****
The pain
After all the times you said
You'd find
Your way

Times like these
They never seem
To stick
Wash off all the tears
You tried so hard
To flick

You never thought
You'd ever be
This sick
What'll you say now
When the strings are cut
Too quick

After all there's
Nothing else left
To be said
Let the water rush
Over your sunken
AJ Jan 2017
Toes are sheets of
the cold
creeps under

Hands have rolled
the dice
the night creeps onward

No dirt along this path
no rising

no skin in red light
over this
frozen hearth

Every way to pick apart
the skin atop
my head

I've bled within the dark
to sleep
on feather beds

come away with me

come closer

come away with me

come closer
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