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 Nov 2014 awallflower
PrttyBrd
a memory
another life
the birth of time
a single being
ripped in two
thrown to earth
drawn together
through lifetimes
never whole in solitarium
through dimensions
across seas
generation after generation
a life unfulfilled
until united
in bliss
as One
11214
Happy Birthday
Whisper me sweet nothings of time melting away these regrets
Or how time itself melted away all these months and years apart
Assure me that the years have dulled these memories, diluted their potency
Lie to me and tell me these memories have faded or that time heals all

Time, the biggest liar of all,
Taking memories and simply aging them in oak barrels to be sampled like a fine whiskey with a cigar or a side of regret

Time doesn't heal a **** thing,
It makes tragedy tolerable,
Like soldiers desensitized to the smell of death and rot

Time can't heal a story whose happy ending can never be written as intended,
It can only lend itself so that the story may be rewritten.
 Nov 2014 awallflower
peurdelavie
.
 Nov 2014 awallflower
peurdelavie
.
you
saw through me
as if i was transparent
and watched my hollow heart
beat,  attempting to match  your
rhythm but changed pulse ever so
slightly the second i was almost
close enough so i ****** my
skin and  bones  for  being
built of cellophane and
bit my cheeks and
swallowed
blood for
every
time
you didn't
love me when you
should have, i built walls
around my ghostly body just high
enough to keep you out, then watched
you burn them down and dance in the ashes.
And then I thought that
those big, endless dark spaces
between the stars in the night sky
had to mean Something

besides

how much nothing is in
Nothing.
I was in the car, talking to my mother... then I looked out the window.
 Nov 2014 awallflower
mzwai
The eighth deadly sin is co-existence.

That is what the bible forgot to tell us.
There are scriptures of love, connotations
Of how the heart works and how it beats and what forces
It to start and stop but,
none of them explain what it goes through, when
It beats for another human being.

The arteries from the heart in a hand do not only carry blood,
But also, thoughts as fugitives of elegance which
need to be released.
The structure within them carries itself within each existent-form
On earth, and veins and arteries were made to be intoxicated
By the supplies of it in the form of what their minds choose not to remember.
It was made that way by the antagonist of memory, and
the screen on which it is displayed onto becomes eternally shattered by its strength of other loved analgesics.
Within the shards of the shattered screen is a motivation of malice,
That expresses ******* within the blood as it is circulated around of the body.

When the empathetic assemblance of the sharpness in
Both the blood plasma and the glass shards become
Heightened by the knowledge of an instigating love for illness,
It is too late for the body to blame it on anything but the contents
Of its own mind.
Eventually the walls of each blood supply will transform into thin layers of restriction,
That allow everything in,
but nothing out.

Poison is planning, and self-infection is the key to only replicating happiness.
So because of this,
whenever a man holds a human heart in the creases of his palm,
He has no choice but to bleed on it as well.

This is not for anyone else but himself...
I have learnt that today.
 Nov 2014 awallflower
III
There seems to be
     A sea in me,

And my ribcage is beginning to leak.
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