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  Jan 2015 Dominique Arnold
Juneau
What if our thoughts were controlled
and original thought was all but done
if it were illegal to ask questions
for example this one

what if there was no future or past
and only the simultaneous
time was only another tool
like a meter stick or others, miscellaneous

or what if those with life
instead of just being
break away from the grid
giving their own life meaning

without fear of their ideas being chased
hunted down, gathered up and erased
built up in great heaping pyres
and ceremoniously fed to the fires
  
people could extend their ideas
through-out the ages
merely by putting their words
on a few blank pages

influencing people
generations apart
simply by creating
a little bit of art
September 21, 2014
Thirty-two
Dominique Arnold Jan 2015
Everything, I wrote something today.

Days blur together since I'm not with you, **** every thing seems awful since I first kissed you.

Why is it that I decided to even love you, ******* my life up to be beside you, but I'll keep playing this game, showing you I love you when I know you don't do the same.

But I'm stupid for believing it, Thought I could make it work but love is just *******.

It's something they tell for your dreams, makes you feel good before it rips and tears at the seams. cause the truth is your all alone, nobody's got your back and life is better when your gone.
This was a text message
Dominique Arnold Nov 2014
I know there's something wrong with me I can feel it, and no amount of medicine or bandages can heal it.

I'm so distorted that love and lust for me are almost the same, cause I never feel the connection unless I'm doing the shame.

Or maybe not the shame I'll call it the experimental hour.

As two become one and I'm overcome with something that's ours.

A feeling that rushes through the body. Leaving me with a desire to do nothing but be naughty.

The difference with you is I felt the connection before anything happened, and being with you is all that I could imagine.

I do care for you I know I do, and for you there's nothing I wouldn't do.

So if  you give me the chance I can make you smile, keep all your secrets and let you know that I'll be here for a while.

But in the end there's a sad truth that must be said, I've cheated just to get you, so our relationship is already dead.
  Oct 2014 Dominique Arnold
Zombee
-






sometimes i wonder if i Learn anything -

sitting in the back of class with etchings n Sketchbooks,

looking through dimensions of a delicate World,

burning through the canvas with mechanical Pencils,,






.
sulking like the king of sullen
souls without a Queen..
..weening off the Pawns,,
"calling all my Bishops...

...this is the Night."
hiding in the Brooks.

- Bookworm




-
Dominique Arnold Jun 2014
I lost everything, but I feel I've gained so much more you see, all the stress is gone and I finally feel free.

The chains have fallen off and I go where I please. Passing people on the street as they look at me like a diseases.

Who are you to judge, you don't know me, the **** I've been through would have you begging on your knees.  

Unbelievable but I've adapted to this life, cold winter nights that sting more than a steel knife.

I find food, when I need to eat, and the world's my bed so I always have a place to sleep.

Friends and family, have all disappeared, and most have died and yeah I shed my share of tears.

I wouldn't trade this life for nothing, I'm happy where I've laid, and I see you jealous people as you walk around lost and afraid.

You wish you knew freedom the way I have it, bills and money don't tie me up cause it my life so I grab it.
712

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—
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