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My heart, even though already dust,
Somehow continues to break...
And it hurts!
It ****** **** as heck hurts...
And tears seem to be flowing from my dried eyes,
As if my eyes were not dry at all.
The millions of pieces of my heart scrape at my innards,
Almost forcing me to scream,
But I make sure barely a whisper moves out of my lips.
Not because I'm afraid to, but rather I prefer to keep it to myself.
Because no person's there for me anymore...
Do you ever feel like
You suddenly don't belong anymore?
Like you used to matter in someone's life,
But now you just exist there?
 Sep 2015 Ayanda Joe Munikwa
K603
I'm losing this game
I'm losing it all
I'm going to loose my life
I'm not winning at all
I can't even breathe because when I do my breath stirs the leaves of my life and they fall.
 Sep 2015 Ayanda Joe Munikwa
GM
He opened his eyes to the morning light,
As he spoke his mind he said things will be alright.
But when the end of the day draws close,
the anticipation lingers whilst the shadows filled his lungs.
He tried desperately to gasp for light; he was alone in the cold night.
The last luminesce on the edge of an empty wine bottle dwindles.
The second glass a reminder of love never to be rekindled.
Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.

Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.

And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.

If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest

Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.

Moral:

Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower
Can I
go back
to the time
when I thought
running like
Naruto
made me
a real
ninja?
Ha sido
una semana hasta
mi ultimo humo,
y no me siento mejor.
No estoy cansada ni
tengo hambre.

Soy perezosa
me acuesto aquí
en mi cama, con
la sabana deja de mi.
Estoy frío pero
mis almohadas
están cómodo
If I held out my hand
would you take it ?
it's warmth ready to permeate your soul
but what would it tell you of me ?
the scar on my finger
the wrinkling skin
the crooked pinkie
the gnarl on my thumb
stories to be told
if you would only take hold.

— The End —