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C J Baxter Oct 2014
"speak that i may see you".
The weak and the brutes do free you
to elevate to where they can’t see you.  

Yet I see all with clear view.
The bumps ahead we steer through.
Yet without the burden of knowledge

I fear you

All of you, all of me does envy.
All of me and all of you is plenty.
So all of me to all of you I lent thee.

Drink this cup and toast it to hearts
who long to taste the end just as it starts.
C J Baxter Oct 2014
If we’ve got anything. Anything at all.
Anything at all. We’ve got issues.  

If we’ve got anything. Anything at all.
Anything at all. We’ve got issues.

You can take your time so take it.
You can take your time so take it.
C J Baxter Oct 2014
Welcome to our world.
Curled toes on the newly matured.
Are you sure you wanna stay?
The girls heads twirled, then they hurled.
Then they were invited back to stay.  

Creeps prowl the streets like wolves howling for sheep.
Sexualise the innocent dream, split the fabric at the seam.

The naked reality might not be so real in actuality .
That glistening woman was a young victim assuming
the man in the suit could help her in her pursuit.

Consuming the explicit. Cross the blurred line to the illicit.
Its trick kid! do you want to swallow or spit it?
Innocence is hard to maintain in a sexualised culture. And there are countless victims
C J Baxter Sep 2014
She draws your eyes at first when you look/
Her soft hair falls like water drawn by electricity.
In the corner spines try and strangle books.
Or some sort of bone- might not be a spine.
But they are forcing them shut. Such crooks.  

Creeping in the corner of the warmer side of the room
Is a man who stares like he longs to be her groom.
I assume he’s the focus that your not supposed to notice.
“Don’t try and draw meaning! It’s useless to do so”,

Cries the voice in my head as I try and make my thoughts slow.

I shall just gaze emptily. Theres plenty to please
my eyes without meaning rotting my brain like disease.
But theres need to unravel why he glares at her crimson.
Why crimson? Why Crimson? I have to listen.

“ Perhaps his face is the blood that runs through us.
A symbol of lust? Love? Or Mistrust. Lets discuss”/  

I must shut this noise at once. Enough.
I can’t start tying this to myself or my own health.
Ignore what is felt, focus on the symbols with context.
Think of what is in front of you not what might be next.

“ But whats next messed before. ******* it right up.
The man had been hexed in folk tale made up!
She stole the symbol and painted him to creep up.”

Regardless, Lets part with these thoughts and just focus.
Theres locust that leap beneath her feet we didn’t notice.
Now Locusts can be hopeless but also denote somewhat biblically.
Perhaps this plague lurking is his misery? Represented Physically

“ By a woman on a hill painted with locust covered feet.
A crimson man behind her sat creeping perched on a seat.
In the corner theres a pile of books with titles you can’t read.
And spines try and choke them but instead they somehow feed."

And all this by a woman who I know could not see me.
Trying to approach allegorical work in a realist manner results, understandably in confusion. This poem celebrates the confusion
C J Baxter Sep 2014
Way hey! Way hey!
We slept through the day.
We missed the mayhem.
And it wasn't here to stay.

Our strife! Our Life!
Its over now its night.
We can bathe without light.
We can talk without spite.
The comfort of missing tragedy
C J Baxter Sep 2014
Spill. Spill. Wilfully ill.
Thrills till we're full with our fill.
****. ****. Skilfully drill
A hole in the day for the chill.
C J Baxter Sep 2014
Everything is talking to me
and I need it to shut up.
Cut up the seams of my reality
and strip off the clothes to naked

normality.  

My mentality is beaten by my morality.
For life, in seconds close to finality,
makes us strive toward normality.
Forced behaviours- just another generality.

Don’t put me in a box!
the walls will start talking to me.
Shouting at me, spilling drivel
filling the level all around me.

I’ll drown its words.
My last words will be heard
ringing- "This is not what I deserved”.

Im just a nerve trapped in this society.
Cant keep to sobriety without the anxiety
creeping quietly form silently to violently
in matter of seconds defiantly.
Its not nice to place a box around someone
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