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 Jan 2013 Anna Ray
M Clement
Here lies X,
Presumptuous isn't it?
A little bit of pomp in lieu of starting a poem
Written for everyone to see;
Nonetheless, here I lie.

This isn't a suicide note
I'm not dying tonight
This is a desire note

A desire to see the man I am die.
This isn't a pity party,
This isn't a threat to me, and please don't worry

This is religious.
I won't claim it as any other.
I wish to see me die.

Me
The "man" who sees a cross
And looks away
For fear of changing what I'm doing
Because, honestly, it makes me feel good.

I look to a crucifix on Sunday
Believe in Transubstantiation
But I still can't get enough of women fornicating on the web.

It hurts to write this down
But to those of you who read it,
I want you to know
I'm drowning

This is struggle.
Day-to-day
Hour-to-Hour
I don't want this
But everything earthly about me does

There needs to be a look
Outside of self
But I'm happy in this cottage
I need to get out
It's burning down
But the fire is what's keeping me warm

I'm not trying to play
Like I'm really ok,
Because fact of the matter:
I'm not

The absolute worst part:
I've said this a million times.
A million and one.
This is what I'm struggling with. I think I'm done, and there I fall again.
Weekly masses gather in cracked tabernacles nurturing feeble souls cursed w/woes and foes,
only to be fooled again.
Their pickled skins reek of sorrows and sins.
...let the worship begin...
There,
they expound on the cunning substance.
Their thoughts and words clatter,
spewing it onto a gleaming platter.
Some may feed upon on what is said,
others exile and roam with the stark spirits of the dead.
 Jan 2013 Anna Ray
Lover of Words
Winter,
There is no win this season,
The snow and cold makes me all depressed and sad,
Hoping for an early spring,
At least that's what I hope for,
Every
Single
Day,
Yet another snowflake falls,
And don't get me wrong,
Snow is pretty every now and then,
But frankly I cannot want frozen fingers and toes
My body freezing to the very bone,
And I tire easily then before
Being awake is such a bore,
And I want to not freeze
Just a moment to feel a heart beat
And a warm hug, and hot coffee,
Cause cold is not my cup of tea
 Jan 2013 Anna Ray
PoetWhoKnowIt
These blocks are thick

I cannot see through

Tip o' the tongue

Far from the eye



Oh! But then begins
flourishing thoughts
like a...
             like a...
                          like a...
As a Borderline she suffers through ,
a kind of emotional Hemophilia ;

Lacking the clotting mechanism
needed to moderate her spurts of feelings .

Stimulate a passion ,
and she emotionally bleeds to death .
 Jan 2013 Anna Ray
Maria
I hate it when thoughts of you keep me up at night

I hate it how your laugh-stained smile leaves an unforgettable imprint in my mind

And I hate I'm always scared, and I hate how I can't speak

I hate how you leave me breathless

So, I was thinking.... want to fall in love with me?
So lately a lot of people around me have caught the love bug, I guess this just kinda explains how they feel. Hope this doesn't make it worse (:
You
You.
You're the person God described to me in my mind.
I thought I was dreaming.
A pure fantasy of the figment of my imagination.

You.
Stood the right height.
You had that certain weight.
Highlighted by a lovely smile.

I pinched myself just to be sure.
That you wasn't a ghost to me.

For you were standing out of my dream before me.

I reached out and touched you.
Even was carressed by you.
And that's when I knew you was real.

Yes, you.
The woman of my dreams.
Yes, you.
Forever sweet and never ever mean.

You.
With a quality so very rare.
You make any man proclaim to be lucky you're his girl.
Go.
But make no mistake.
Leave behind no ****.
You have been lingering here
For far to long.
Your presence
Is a permanent scar in my mind.
You caused me pain once
Now I just want you gone.
And the blood I sparred is lost
But I will heal
Once you leave.
Make no mistake.
You might return.
If you lose the blades
That have split my heart.
Left me
Drained of
Me.
Filled with
You.
 Jan 2013 Anna Ray
Chloe Sayre
Imaginary Boy
builds imaginary walls so tall he trumps the Taj Mahal.
He walks corridors to imaginary doors
where he stores his love in hoards of fantasies,

but he figures her
the mystery,
the puzzle to be solved.

Imaginary boy
composes stormy melodies.
He plays them through
imaginary seas,
but in his heart it is the sirens,
with songs diminished, sickly,
who claim his ship for the fiery deep.

While he fills his pockets with stone, he screams,
"I stored my love in hoards on board, and she's taken all I have!"

Imaginary Boy
lives in a dream, but never sleeps.
Quietly, he mumbles, "That woman, she makes me bleed."
but she could never penetrate that deep,
because he cannot see her
through his warped expectations.

Imaginary Boy
doesn't know that love resounds infinitely through our mentality,
and cognitively,
it is our decision to love,
and we decide how to love,
and who to love

Imaginary Boy,
love is a verb, never a noun,
and so very real,
so very profound,
that the loving cannot be real
if the expectations are imaginary.
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