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 May 2015 Andrew Tinkham
thymos
walking leisurely,
holding hands lovingly,
my fists clench, nails dig,
sadness washes over me.
 May 2015 Andrew Tinkham
Joseph D
****** happens
Has there been one culture
Rendered in isolation
That did not rid another being of its sensation
Everywhere you see
It's almost sadistic
Making death depressing
Then turning it into a statistic
Truth becomes cryptic
I miss it
So now songs,
My brain in silence sings,
About believing I had wings
Take over
Do I need them?
Yes
Is this freedom?
I know thats my face
Those are my hands
They move when I move
Her eyes blink when I feel mine shut
I know that is my body, bird like and thin
That is my nose that hooks at the end
Those are my clothes I remember putting on before bed
My eyes are darkening and the walls are starting to cave in
Breathing is harder, worse than smoking a cigarette
My body is numb
I cant tell if this is reality
I hear my voice saying
Come back
Im escaping, leaving, running away from all the fears I am forced to face
I feel my knees grow weak
And my body sinks
To the floor and my cheeks grow wet
With makeup covered tears
I don't remember wanting to cry
Reality is no more
A dream is all I can see
With dandelions
And trees
With bare feet
And a cool breeze
The floor becomes softer and all I do is sink
Like a dead weight in the sea
An anchor tied around my ankles
Letting ocean water drown my sorrows
But this cant be true
Im standing in the bathroom
With wet cheeks
Trembling hands
And clothes I put on before bed
Galactic disposition
Relentless exposition
A guided meditation
To harbor one's condition
An earwax candle mission
Removing audible visions
Internal text to bring forth next
The silent-held emissions
Walking down the street
Wanting something to eat
See a homeless man
Sitting in the heat

I get sad for a second
Then the old man beckoned
Do you have any money
I smiled, not feeling threatened

I reach out my hand
Hit him with a bottle
Took his 3.50
And hit up McDonalds
suggestion: instead of homework
can you write all over               me
learn my language with your
bilingual tongue and match
syllable by syllable
                                   vowel by vow
into the way my passion curves
you       have a pretty lisp      and      a sly smile
and an immeasurable amount of secrets
to learn and i'd love to be the ear that hears
them all
               can you own me
tonight instead of work?
i'd rather me than any other thing to
happen to end up in your hands
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