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every monster finds it way to my paintbrush. and paints itself and its story.

monsters write themselves in blue ink, idling aphotic shadows, luring near floors, unable to view themselves as nothing more than weak mindless creatures who yearn to be seen as beautiful and not fearful creatures that hide in dark spaces. They want to be drawn and written about, painted and noted. They want to know if they have some place in the world that fears them.
the voices are faded distorted whispers, glitched between my thoughts and the floorboards
they will not let me sleep until they have their stories told.
I walk the halls quietly and alone

A ghost surround by life

Sometimes people can see me

But they look away

'Cause no one wants to waste time

Befriending a ghost

T.11.I
We walked in to darkness,
putting off what we both know what it will bring,
as sadness began to flare, and anxiety started to sing,
we both looked up to stars,
knowing it's one thing that has always healed our scars,
I began to cry a bit,
knowing it was going to be a while till we got to sit,
and talk aboot how many views we got that day,
I said I love where the middle star in Orion sits,
because the darkest spot in the night sky,
is a lie,
its a gateway to every thing that has ever come to pass,
and as our cigarettes came to an, I was praying the final drags would last,
we smiled at each other with a knowing,
that in the morning I would be going,
with a sigh I put the night to and end,
talking aboot the pictures each of us need to send,
we said good night, with a belly full of lead,
the conversation never ends, but the cigarette is dead,
and we say,
sleep well and see you in the morning,
looking at you with eyes full of sad, we say I'll talk to you later,
but in my heart I am saying,
I love you Dad.
Cherubs wrestle animals to death
and shoot arcing arrows across the sky
it’s a love poem
about love
aww
every car parked on the street
has an owner
and that owner walks around the same city streets
looking for the same answers
standing on rained out rooftops
cherishing the brief respite from the grind
another person
whose fingers intertwine with their own
so perfectly
they must’ve been conjoined twins
separated at birth by chance
I could ramble on about the look of innocence
in a child’s eyes, but spare me the gushy stuff
it’s more about the chase than the checkered flag
and we’re all in the race
and there’s no such thing as last place
just those who take it at their own pace
so enjoy it
you’ll be dead within seventy-five years
Out of Liquor
and out of time.
It's 2 AM on
someday
thats not a
saturday.

Outside my window
racoons climb through
the fig tree feasting
like untamed
royalty on
the heavy hanging
fruit.

I rifle through
the cabinets
in search of a
bottle.
The cabinets are
bare and I know
this,
but the madness
says there's more.

There's a deep
red stain on
the scuffed and
peeling linoleum floor.
It's as red as
that flapping flag
of anarchy.
It's blood and
I know it
but I choose to
ignore it.

The bars have
all closed and I can
hear my neighbor
has brought the
party home
next door.

I despise the sun
but times like
these I beg the
Gods for it's
arrival.
For with the
awakening of
another day
brings the opening of the
liquor store
and my continuance
in the way of the
hardened soul.

My mornings began
just as empty as
my bottles
from the night before
and I see no
real reason to
stop it all
now.
a skyscraper counted down
the red seconds until I woke
up and i stood naked on the
streets of a dream waiting for
my alarm to go off.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Feb 2014 Bobbie Lea Mullener
RA
Stop acting like you
are happy, I can see
your face when the mask
melts, when you think they
can't, and the far off look
in your eyes tugs
in my gut, a rusty fishhook pulling
me back to the you
no one else can see.
January 23, 2014
edited and expanded February 16, 2014
After Sunday you stink of hypocrisy
Please don't waste your breath preaching to me
To me it's one big joke
as you line up for the punch line
Wearing your see through clothes
and flaunting your plastered eyes
Keep funding your guilt
as I kick back and criticize
Pockets full of change
I wound not spare a dime
I use these views to choose the words which follow on
and if no views then it is if that I am gone
from memory,
remember me?
addiction free,
except for alcohol and nicotine and some things best not talked about,some things I think are best unseen except by me and
she,my Queen.
Amused by views I sometimes lose perspective and get far too big to fit my boots,but
I come from humble roots and humbler stock and so have learnt to lock my vanity away,yet
this I say
(because no one else will,)
I'll write until my blood turns blue,I'll write with ink and water too and if you choose to not take peeks or views
you lose.
tidal waves

starting from the bottom,
    a life time
                     ago, inside backstabbers feeling the aftermath.
raising in anger

                  the sky above, gone so long.
lifted to

a journey of endless time, skies as dark as,
a blackened out knight.

a thief, not realising the fight,
                                                  that you daily gave flight.

academia loses me, swamping my left side,
my brain is crawling.

a right sided force to be reckoned with,
a release from the monotony of one
                                                           two
                                                             ­    three, safety in numbers.

war of the world ensues, it's a game of thrones.

red versus blue, black versus white,
knowing I always saw,
the creativity in,
                            me.

© Sia Jane
Probably one of the oddest poem I have ever written!
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