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Ashby Nov 2018
For you, a flower in my mouth
With colours I've never experienced before
Its scent intoxicates me like the smell of your hair
It's girth makes it hard for me to speak
A softness to it's petals, and a edge to it's thorns
Which pierce my lips shut,
So my mouth may never show you the beauty you create within me
Apr 2018 · 359
It doesn't stop
Ashby Apr 2018
The bridge to the past continues to crumble.
So take a bottle of wine and drink in the rubble.
Ashby Mar 2018
So boiled,  burnt alive or frozen stiff

The ice will split my skin and crack and bleed

The water melts my skull, I feel it drip

So Burn the witch.  If left or Right. Don't care.

I  like the smell of burning flesh. It's nice.

And rage is powerful, used like

A bullet aimed precisely at the heart.

Instead we're spraying, like a child at play.
We hit an artery allowing us to dance

offbeat in blood, so maggots crawl
Away.
Feb 2018 · 170
Lego Man
Ashby Feb 2018
I break myself and build it back together
Just to fit in
I'm lego man, I change forever
A different person, the old inside the bin
Feb 2018 · 184
You don't love her
Ashby Feb 2018
Sitting down in a caff,
And a book called symposium (1)
Fills your mind, with a torrent of thoughts and small guilt

Be alone, it is best in the end
And imprison yourself
So the hurt, be contained

You thought love, was so fair
You're a *****, it's hard
And it's harsh
Do not lie to yourself
And stop lying to her

You are selfish, she's not love
But your hostage you trapped
In a web of emotions you built
You're a ******, it's okay to admit
You need help. This is sick.

You don't love her.
Nov 2017 · 278
Method of loci
Ashby Nov 2017
I'm a ghost,
a pathetic ol' ghoul,
I am trapped
in your palace of memories
And the walls, are now playing, the beatles, she sweet.
And the table, is covered in parks.
And a sobbing old Mickey across
With a note in his hand
And it smells just like, you
I hear dance, from the ceiling,
And it sounds, like a croon

Slowly Float, through the hall, to your bath
Made of emerald and grey sand
And I swim, in your toilet, with a packet of *******
There's a key, at the bottom, it tempts, as I swim,
To the end, with the key, in my hand

And I walk, to your door
I hear laughs
You're a part, of me,  still
You still haunt me
I open the door
And see you smiling
I smell your warmth
I feel you touching my chest
And I was happy to let the house crumble
Sep 2017 · 309
An old poem I wrote
Ashby Sep 2017
My first memory was of a boy whose joy seeped through his ****** hands, he sewed my nose on, he dragged me in agony, screaming angrily that the world is filled with nothing but pain and men who were insane
but I knew deep in my heart
he was wrong.

My next memory was of another boy skipping merrily towards me his joy giving me hope, to secretly gloat that the Chinese boy was wrong, he wanted me, he need me, he loved me, the grand power of three, what every teddy bear wants
I came home with the boy whose joy made made me happy, I loved the boy named Lee and he loved me.

The years went by in haste, and our love faded at an alarming pace, I became a ghost perched on his bed wishing I was now dead, I cut a slot for my mouth and cotton and pain came out, I stole a bottle and went full throttle on the beer cursing anyone I ever held dear.

One day when the sun beamed and his eyes gleamed, for the first time in years he looked in my direction
then pulled out his *******
he stuffed it in my mouth and my seams tore as he called me a ***** *****, I was in pain, and he thrusted in and out again he gasped and toppled over,
finally
My mouth filled with his love, my cotton no longer the colour of a dove.
This is my life now, no reason to fight, the little chinese boy was right, life is not fair, I am no longer the bear of joy, instead I am the bear of misery and despair.
**** me now.

— The End —