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Cerulean sheets
Mummify the memory of your eyes roaming down to catch mine.
Light oak rings dotted black with the door to your soul
What did you see?
Ghosts of those days linger in this house
And I don’t profess to be a medium
But I swear at night I can hear them
Faint footsteps passing quietly back and forth between our doors
Confused
And questioning our distance.
©AimeeToney2014
She sits there alone

at all the local bars

Skin so young

but there's stories in her scars

stitches on the sleeve

where her heart was once worn

so calm in her face

but her minds a raging storm.

Yeah, shes happy alone

but she misses his touch

and a closeness thats shes now so

terrified of.

She smiles and she laughs

and she tells not a soul

of the nightmares and cold sweats

and of the way that her heart broke.

She silently sits

and shot after shot

lets go for the night

what while sober she cannot.

She sings sweet love songs

in tragic tones of Macbeth.

Cursing every man

in the room

underneath her breath.
©AimeeToney2014
My mind is a beast.
Snarling and bearing its teeth.
A humming bird adrift through atmosphere,
flower to flower and back again.
A bee ready to sting to protect the hive,
yet brought down with the smallest drop of water.
My ears light up at the sound of earth,
and rejoice.
Yet cry at any tone resembling your voice.
My mouth is a beautifully sculpted castle.
My full lips conceal the cowardly queen behind tea stained teeth.
My mouth is a coward.
My fingers are my army wielding sharp ink filled swords.
Directing letters into spiral bound battle fields
stained with shed tears.
Each word lain out like blood spattered soldiers where the enemy can find them if the notion ever strikes hot.
©AimeeToney2014
The time is nearing
and I keep hearing your name
flashing bold and white in my head
Oh, I never want to get out of bed
unless your smoke's in my fire

The time is coming soon
I'm still stuck in my room
scribbling down words I can't say to you
Oh, I'm not right in the head
I cant leave my bed because
your smoke's in my fire

Clock is tick, tick, ticking
I'm terrible at picking up
on inconspicuous cues
The wick is slowly burning and I'm
quickly learning your smoke's in my fire

  The time is now
I'm flickering toward you but the
draft from your presence puts me out
I'm smoldering, embers circling
the smoke coming from my fire
You're the smoke of my fire
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day
For half his flock were in their beds
Or under green sods lay.

Once, while he nodded in a chair
At the moth-hour of the eve
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.

'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die;
And after cried he, 'God forgive!
My body spake not I!'

He knelt, and leaning on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.

They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind
And God covered the world with shade
And whispered to mankind.

Upon the time of sparrow chirp
When the moths came once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.

'Mavrone, mavrone! The man has died
While I slept in the chair.'
He roused his horse out of its sleep
And rode with little care.

He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door,
'Father! you come again!'

'And is the poor man dead?' he cried
'He died an hour ago.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.

'When you were gone, he turned and died,
As merry as a bird.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.

'He Who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of this great angels down,
To help me in my need.

'He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in His care
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair.'
 Apr 2014 Brian Carson
Ellen Bee
In fifteen years
When you've signed your third set of divorce papers
And I've had too many one-night stands to count
When you've got two kids in highschool
And I've written three unpublished novels
When our lists are long
And our hopes are gone
When our youth is a memory
And half our lives are over
...that's when we'll get married
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