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 Nov 2012 aj heatherly
Tatiana
Run
 Nov 2012 aj heatherly
Tatiana
Run
Dusk
the darkest hour of the night,
and you're alone,
sitting in the middle
of a huge forest.
You're lost,
a twig snaps,
and a cold breeze blows across
your already shivering body.
A rustle in the bushes behind you
you whip around
so fast,
that you catch a glimpse
of a pair of eyes.
One eye is green,
and swirls with chaotic thoughts.
The other eye is blue,
it looks ice cold,
cruel and calculating.
You jump up
every hair on your body,
is standing up straight.
Goosebumps rip up your arms and legs,
and you hear a voice.
Its cruel monotone echoes all around you,
as if you're in a cavern.
The voice gets louder,
and you feel the glare
of the green and blue eyes,
burning holes into your back,
and that dark presence came closer,
a hand clamped down tight on your shoulder
and you heard a calm, wicked whisper in your ear
"Run."
From ivory towers
to the streets of Paris
the hopeful and hopeless
devour what they've gathered
they all want their chance on the parade
but on epsilon streets it only rains
erroneous stale induced calm
of tropical hibiscus and cool lemon grass
in neat little packaging
and the suits milk their crops
and shout
make me king!
yeah one day I'll be king!
and none of this will mean anything!
and the lions will all be tamed!
because they all want their chance
their chance on the parade
the young and the widowed
the lonely the echos
our self induced coma
oh god give him soma!
oh give him some functionality
his cold lips feel no reason to breathe
the reason
the treason
vociferous silence  
buy one get one free
or sit there in silence
because everything's on offer
there's nothing to scoff at
the birth of today
for the death of tomorrow
click
A poem by someone in Chicago
click
A poem by a girl in love with her best friend
click
A story by a young man trying to find out himself
click
A poem by someone whose cat is in front of the screen
click
A piece by a rusty old man in need of attention
click
A piece of soul
click
Posted for the world's criticism
click
A shred of heart
click
Bared with anonimity
click
Thoughts from the mind
click*
of a fellow poet
You say try not to miss me
and I laugh...

don't tell me tell the wind
tell her
not to whisper your name
repeatedly

remind her not
to tease me with your scent
infusing
flowers with fresh baked bread

beg her not
to touch my skin
nor tease my uncombed hair
so playfully

Please tell her
not to dance around me
laughing so lightly
as to make me smile

as my missing you is like the breeze...

only natural.
For a modest subscription -
say, £100 a month -
you can receive my weekly newsletter
outlining the manner in which I undertake
to steal your jobs,
besmirch your womenfolk
(or menfolk, if you like),
impose my religion upon you,
undermine your financial system,
eat the swans in your local park,
raise/lower house prices (as your current need dictates),
contribute to a nameless sense of dread,
dilute your cherished national identity
and produce more illiterate children than the welfare state
can reasonably support.

I will do you this service
on the understanding
that you will stop attributing blame
to your undeserving neighbours
and get on with your life
like a decent human being.
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