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Put the gun to your head
Listen to the silence
Don't care for heaven or ****
Have a smile on your face
Keep your tongue in its place
And have a tale to tell
Of the burning of your soul
So that the heavens shake
For time has come to make
The departure to the other side

© Ali Ashraf
Somebody has a gun?
my first crush committed suicide.
i remember the hurt at a young age
from chasing him around his living room
begging him for a kiss.
from my young age i knew i wanted him
in my life forever.
through his weaves and gagging
running around the furniture and up the stairs,
losing him sounded foreign then
and having lost him now, still feels the same.
our fathers drank and our mothers giggled
born three months apart
our future planned together
both saying "i do"
uniting us all together.
life flew on by
us both fighting with ourselves
and downing the bottles underneath the bed
loaded and silenced
family portraits painted in red
long life memories all put to rest.
only one made it out alive
but it's hard to breathe
out of us how was it me
and you in a little box
where a diamond ring should be.
my mind keeps wondering
when will i stop chasing you
then my heart replays
every time you turned a corner
you looked over your shoulder
and how you smiled at me.
i miss you
the things you always joke about
they hurt
but im not leaving you
the way you talk to me when you get angry
it hurts
but im not leaving you
the way you change completely when i bring up a friend of mine who's a guy
it scares and hurts me
you joke about how "im on this guys ****" or some immature ****
it hurts cause you know i wouldn't do that to you
but i wont leave
cause you're still the boy i met just a few months back
but now all your sweet words sound so full with ****, no love
i can ever so slightly hear a drop of love, scattered in between the "i love you" and the "im sorry baby" and all the in between
i love you
and im not leaving you
not yet
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of ****
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
 Dec 2018 Broken Angel Wings
It so happen
that there are two sides,
And im in the middle.
Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.
Get to know me like I do you; inside and out.
Maybe it's the way you look at me,
Maybe it's the way you hold me,
Maybe it's the way you care for me,
Maybe it's the way you talk to me,
Maybe it's the way you understand me,
Maybe it's the way we joke around,
Maybe it's the way we love,
Maybe all it is
Is you.
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