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 May 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
That's the REAL me.
The Weeknd

Obvi.
 May 2016 Bilford
Ocean Blue
... My eyes,
To mirror your sighs,
I will give you my smile,
To dance with your smile,
I will give you my hands,
For you to paint the beauty
Of the fertile lands
In the hills of Tuscany.
I will give you my open arms
To surround your shoulders,
When you feel cold during the winters.
I will give you my soft kisses
To dry up your tears
On your pale cheeks
So I can chase your fears.
I will give you my memory,
For you to remember
Our forgotten kisses, if any.
I will tell you some of my secrets,
Even the ones from the Pool,
In case you show interest,
And there you would think I'm a fool.
And of course I will give you
My Ocean Blue,
For you to dive into.
But I will never give you
Anything that can hurt you.
Somehow,
You need to know
That I can only give all this
When you come back from the abyss
To which you've decided to depart,
Leaving me alone to dream of you,
With art.
 May 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
G'day from prison!*
(before I knew he lives on):

I see you there, My Maple.

Your little skirts; your peroxide hair.  Sweet, quiet Maple... I see your fishnet, maroon, little sweater. How I loved that thrift-store garment; it gave purpose to us both. For you, an excuse to see, without being seen. A voyeuristic excuse, for myself, to see without being seen.

If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know this.

I picture your starkness. Dark, ten year old Maple. Listening with wide eyes - as I validated you.

As no one else had before.

I nurtured that Goth infatuation that no one wanted, fed you music: your Evanescence covet. Your black fingernails... Even then, I understood what no one else could.

Yummy, tasty, Maple.

How good you smelled; how fresh you smelled. Clean, and sad. Searching for reassurance. Searching eye's, searching for me.

Searching for someone. Anyone. A real person; content to SEE you, and love you anyways. Not like the rest; all of them - who'd only ever cast you aside - pick you last - call you names, spit in your face, lock you out and alienate you; who’d kick and shove you.
The *someones
behind why you, at age ten, began to wish you were dead.
I was there, and I was your best friend.

Me.

I was the best friend you'll  ever have. Someone who loved an anomaly, and understood, and loved you best; over your mother - your sister - I told you I had a crush; a crush for only you.

10 years have lived and died between us.

10 years without me.

And the weight of time has yet to alleviate.

You still wish you were dead.

I still feel your warmth; the little bundle of you.

You.

You in your cozy, blue bed, with your
curious eyes and porcelain face. I would slip five dollar bills under your pillow; tell you, “I’ve hidden something secret.”  

I adorned you with money, pampered you with special trinkets, allowed rare privileges disproved by your mother... A mother who hadn’t a clue you’d worshipped angry rap since the age of eight. She didn’t know. You idolized Eminem. She’d yet to learn his name. You wanted to see 8 Mile; your mother said no – Rated R – so it was our little secret.

But you betrayed our secrets, didn't you?

We have no secrets anymore.



I see you there.

The soft, supple skin of your back . . . of your stomach . . . and of what lay below.

“What’s down there?” I’d inquired.

So enamored, exploring the secrets of your little body.

My demure, sad Maple.

I was your one and only true companion.

I was your one, and only friend.

Yet, here, in this cell, you will never see your best friend again.

You will never have a best friend again.

For in this cell, I have nothing left, but to remember.

I have nothing left but to write.

All my love, my presents, my company. All to end up here.

Here, behind bars.

And the weight of time has yet to alleviate.

You still wish you were dead.

But you and I - we've become synonymous.

Together, forever.

Just as I said, ten years ago. For, no matter what, my existence will always define you; and yours - you will define mine.

Forever.

You'll never be rid of me, and you can never leave me.

For I'll never leave you.

Our bond is solidified.

Perpetually.

Together forever.

Ten years. Eleven, twelve. The calendars change, but you and I? We’re right where we left each other.

So you'll never be anything. Anything at all. Anything else but mine.

The weight of time won't ever alleviate.

And you STILL wish you were dead.

- Thomas Gregory Brown, G'day from prison
(The perspective of a ****** predator; to be ballsy, but to wonder how ...and why. let's try?)

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
 May 2016 Bilford
AK93
Sinz
 May 2016 Bilford
AK93
I can not quit
Caving in
Giving in
To familiar sin
 May 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
.

The only reason
you still care
is because
**I don't.
No apologies
 May 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
When raids of knaves
And smitten sheep
Aimed to pervade
Our hide and seek,

Beneath enclaves
We'd creep and keep
Their souls, we flayed,
To hide and TWEAK.
In Plain Sight is the Best Place to Hide
❤️
 May 2016 Bilford
Maple Mathers
Not prison, nor killed,
But his memoir's fulfilled
He named me Ann Williams
Amidst hints he instilled.

His fact is our fiction - demurely disguised.
Bad move, Tomas Gregory
You're tied to your lies
Unwise, catalyzed

Your pathetic demise.

**|
|
|
|
\/
'
Gang ***** in Aspen:
The personal account of an innocent man, savaged by American injustice.

http://www.amazon.com/Gang-*****-Aspen-personal-injustice/dp/0984940111

how bizzare; how bizzare
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