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Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
This is one of the sample stories in my new book, "BitterSweet," which has become a #1 New Release on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/BitterSweet-Lior-Gavra/dp/0999497103/
 Jul 2015 Amy Blanchette
katie
When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.
Why can't my heart
turn my insecurities into
words and phrases you'll like and relate to
so you'll give them a heart or a share and temporarily
give me a fickle reward because I'm a pointless human being
and day in day out
wish I could put my suicide into words
a literary suicide for every time
I hate my life and
wish I could go back
to being innocent before
I broke anyone
before I realized I'll have to grow up or die
before I became the
weak one
incapable of even
martyrdom.
pieces of you are sprinkled around my day and the small parts paint a mosaic that by the end of the night reminds me of you - i remember all the details

it's hard not to think of your body pressed against mine in this heat because it's the same sun that made us sweat together and it's the same moon that watched us love each other more than ever before and i don't know what's worse, not seeing you or not hearing you

all i want is for you to be near me because your hug burns deep within my skin and before i know it my skin smells of you and my hair locks in brown strings the aroma of your clean shirt and your cologne

maybe this is what love feels like - maybe love is when i'm at th beach for a week and everyday i keep thinking how much i miss you, maybe love is how well i know your smile to the point where i'm down and picture it i smile, maybe love is how my lips know yours better than anyone else's, maybe love is when i sit down and write poem after poem after poem about you because it's a love so deep only ink on paper can understand
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