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I crawl from the ground
Black roots release me
From my grave,
Wood
Splinters,
Earth,
Torn from
The underground
I walk as my roots of black
Spread  across the land,
Like vines they spread
Suffocating,
All other life around.
Decay,
leave,s its touch on this land.
   I walk the land from the grave.
The roots released me
From my rest
Now I poison the land
With each step
Corrosion
  Withering,  
My roots saturates the ground
Decay,
Erode,
Decompose
I am dead but my legacy,
Will be death as my roots suffocate the land,
All life is drained
There will only be
Extinction,
Oblivion,
Darkness,
Where ever my roots take ground
As I fear no other
What can the dead fear
As all that surrounds, is death all around.
  Sep 2014 calpurnia mockingbird
bones
He stood
At the end
Of the days
That had passed
And he wept
For them all
As they spilled
Through the gaps
In his fingers
That clawed
The air
At their backs
Til the one
That he thought
That he'd caught
Was his last.
should have turned round
before it was too late !  :o(
she liked her liquor darker
than the backstreet beat poetry
she read in the cracks
of so few hearts.
she kissed storms and they hit
her back. she called it love.
she collected tears in bottles
and whispered that it was wine,
while the world ignored her,
breathed her in
and spat her out into ***** motels,
with broken mirrors
for broken hearts.
your words form universes of northern lights,
diluted by stars and the constellations
of your cold lips against mine.
whole mountain ranges sigh and creak,
standing on their tiptoes,
reaching for the moon, for your rhymes,
for you,
to be dissolved into snowcapped hours,
where broken typewriter keys align
with earthquakes and forgotten mistakes.
you are a waterfall, an unexplored ocean,
the yellow of maps from other people's adventures.
you are every undressed superlative
that creaks my floorboards
and casts across my walls
as starlight.
Hide underneath the stars with me
and peel back my skin layer by layer,
starting at the cold fingertips
missing the tenderness his touch caused,
twisting up damaged limbs and wounds of my woe,
past scars from childhood stories
- the ones not meant for campfires -
and around hairs that used to stand
when your breath danced like two ghosts
- you and I -
down my neck and into my bloodstream.

Peel me back until I am nothing,
but that little boy cowering on the bathroom floor,
with flickering lights, bruised elbows,
a lump in his throat and pain in his chest,
crying for something that no longer
existed.
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