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Some people sit and watch and say nothing at all, and others say too much and miss everything and everyone around them.

In a way, a persons silence seems to give a looming of power the them over others. On the other hand, they are outspoken and have no control of any given situation. Is there gray area between the two? Can you be silent without being mysterious? And can you be silent without being disregarded?

Some people may find need to fill silence with sound, with their own voice. In my own experience, the people who do this tend to be overtly confident, but lacking in charisma. These people build themselves up past the point of admirable. They drive themselves off the cliff of confidence and into the sea of cockiness. Can one be an everspinning record without putting themselves on a pedestal?

Where is the inbetween? Can there be a constand buzz behind silence or is there only disregardable ringing and deafening quiet?
She bleeds silently
Into a bath of melancholy tears.
Exoneration is but a mere hope,
As she floats to the darkest depths
Of her own affliction.
She wilts as the smooth surface
Of her satin skin is punctured
By the briars of her thoughts.
Why? How?
It was only a kiss.
A brief, but fatal kiss.
Facebook's not a journal,
Twitter's not a place,
That's the massive problem
With the current human race.

Your mood is not a hashtag,
'Selfie' is spelled with an S,
We're really all addicted,
Which we know, but won't confess.

Our kids will play computers,
They'll be Apple's biggest fans,
But what about the authors,
Who wrote things with their hands?

Dickens, Wilde and Hawthorne,
I'm sure would bear a frown,
For PAPER was the only way,
They wrote their stories down.
 Feb 2015 Ashley Nicole
Dust Bowl
Stop treating me like I'm the cut on your wrist your sweater just barely covers.
I am so sick of being something your ashamed of.
Your secret, your mistake.
But you know as well as I do that the guiltiest of pleasures are the most rewarding.
Maybe that's why you keep ending up back in my bed
And maybe that's why I keep letting you.
I watch you breathe
as you sleep.
I'm afraid of what
you could mean
to me.

I study the stripes
on your shirt.
I think of all the
ways we'll flirt
and all the ways
we'll cry and I'll choke
with your hands
around my throat,
and Malboro Black
cigarette smoke
pouring down my
esophagus--
I wish I wasn't
so fond of us.

Love is for tin birds
in a flame cage.
Scars remind us where we've been, but they don't have to dictate where we're going.
Let me post a selfie
how's my hair
makeup
angle
filter
how do I look
did I get likes yet?
Let me post a status
one about how much I love my besties
another on how I learned a new lesson
now here's a photo of my breakfast
I have to comment
like
poke
post new updates
every day
becuase that's just what you do nowadays,
that's just how it goes
because we're all so afraid
if we don't keep posting
if we don't get those likes
and invites
and pokes
and fill up our messages
and notifications,
that we're going to be forgotten.
That if we don't solidify our presence
on social media
then we don't have a presence at all.
We spend so much time
trying to make other people
think we exist,
that we never end up existing at all,
not really.
We don't need all these people
and confirmations
to tell us we exist.
we already do.
If only it weren't so easy to forget that.
I'm a slave to my status.
 Feb 2015 Ashley Nicole
qi
load your bullets
in the firing chamber
and they'll fly
from your lips,
ricochet and lodge
past the scarce armor
of my ribcage
into this glass heart of mine
     let my insecurities bleed out
                         don't staunch the flow


pierce my skin
with the shards of my heart
end my misery,
squeeze the trigger
with practiced ease
     breathe in,
          breathe out
               breathe in,
                    breathe out


                             *(you'll find another victim
                              downrange of you)
find someone else for target practice, *******.
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