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Braxton Reid May 2019
Florescent light in the early morning.
The sun comes up when the rain stops pouring.
Ticking, brooding clock in my head.
I wrap produce on plastic beds.

Plastic earbuds bring me joy
By vibrating air through the void.
"Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead.
I'm reminded and filled with dread.

A podcast speaks on microplastics.
Oceans filled and consequences drastic.
Bothered by the nine to five.
These vibrations keep me alive.
Braxton Reid Nov 2018
Pulled from a shelf and myself on a lounge,
I sit with the brittle paged book.
Try as I might, my immersion is dashed
From the sounds of dinner cooked.

My will delivers a writ to read,
My mind runs to and fro,
The television demands my attention.
Progress, none will flow.

Instead, I sit with prose,
And write a poem on the fixation.
Five minutes have passed; The T.V. now dull.
Finally, I receive my satiation.
Braxton Reid Nov 2018
I shall never meet the souls whose paths were mere inches from mine.
Our lots cast aside from each other as the gods baited for us, the fish.
Take the bait and swim again; hooked deep In my bleeding mouth.
Braxton Reid Aug 2018
My Heaven is small and quaint;
A little dingy and filled with faceless saints.
It's a small bookstore with disorganized shelves,
Plenty of material to feed me well.

Comics, games, records, art,
A million things to start.
I'd sight-see amongst my creature comforts,
And read on near death experience.

Near Death: A Look Into The Minds Of The Brave, Page 152.
"It is often reported, that people who experience a near death feel only the nothing around them as they slip out of conciousness."

Even the anxieties will be there,
For without them I'd find no joy in being in small, dingy, quaint bookstores.
Braxton Reid Aug 2018
*******;
I haven't seen you in a year.
Maybe more;
And I'm almost twenty four.
Seventeen;
I still fell seventeen.
Coffee pours;
It's running out the door.
Bittersweet;
The ground beneath my feet.
Never ends;
Time don't always mend.
Here I am;
Sitting like the ******.
Missing you;
My hearts empty room.
Braxton Reid Jul 2018
I'm a creative;
I flow with a piano.
I deserve to be so.
I am deserving of the name.

I'm a creative;
I write like it means something.
I feel it in my heart.
I am deserving of the name.
Braxton Reid Jun 2018
It's been a while since seventeen;
Six years since house gigs and cut teeth.
Put my mouth to the grindstone,
Because I still don't know anything.
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