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 Sep 2014 allison
always anxious
So happy
Yet secretly so dark

So loved
but yet she hates herself

Shes like every one else
But yet so different
 Sep 2014 allison
Riley Lavender
Your name
always on my lips

Your face
always there
when I close my eyes

Your presence
always in my dreams

You haunt me
 Sep 2014 allison
Kelly Rose
Hades
 Sep 2014 allison
Kelly Rose
Hades
Why is he portrayed
as ugly and scary?
Shouldn't he at least
be pleasing to the eye?
Yes, he reigns over the
land of the dead
But, is death necessarily heinous?
Shrouded in mystery
He's the essence
of all our fears
Tomorrow holds the unknown
An unknown
I do not fear
I choose not to fear
the Great Unknown
Giving it a softer countenance
One pleasing to the eye
9/11/2014
 Sep 2014 allison
Sophie Herzing
You’ve dammned yourself to hell,
crawled weakly back, back, back—
you knew where to find me.

I know, because I’ve dealt massiveley
with the way you’d hold me backwards
upon a plateau of lies that smell like liquor,
like liptstick, and like twisted lullabies.
No one should have to fall asleep at night
to an I told you so or the just let me go to sleep.
I know, because I’ve been hit without being touched.
I’ve catapulted through your dense disguise,
getting stuck in the aftermath, losing
myself in a realm of make-believe promises
to keep—
*******. Just keep yourself away from me!
I know, because I’ve loved you.
And maybe not in the cause and effect wedding band way,
but the kind where I was immersed, evolved into madness
from your lips on my lips or your hands on my hips.
I know, I know that you’re upset
with who you’ve finally become, because I know you.
Terribly enough, I know you.

So when the white blankets you slow with silence,
an invisible massacre, I’ll know—
I’ll know because I’ve almost been there—
that my face turned soft with glow
will guide you home
because I’m the only real thing you’ve ever known.
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and ****** and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
 Mar 2014 allison
jay darling
You once set loose
an army of butterflies
swarming into my stomach
by simply parting your lips
and pushing out every beautiful word
I'd ever wanted to hear.

This happened again,
and again,
until one day,
they filled up every cavern of my stomach
and slowly overflowed into my veins.

Those butterflies carried your love,
and I let them loose through my body because I trusted you.

For a while I lived in complete and utter blind ecstasy
from shooting your love up my veins
and those butterflies drove me insane
in the most beautiful and peaceful kind of insanity
brought on by so much naive happiness.

One day,
I can't remember when,
you began neglecting the butterflies that filled me
from my toes to the smug smile on my face.
I slowly felt those loving butterflies freeze,
and become something else as their wings
--once so delicate and soft enough to tickle me
from the inside and create some sort of euphoric bliss--
became frigid, icy glass shards that slowly began to cut through my veins
and rip me apart from the inside out
until they sliced through my heart just like you did
all because you decided to stop loving me.

— The End —