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He says that if you walked long enough in one direction, you’ll only end up where you started.
He says that bullets and escape shuttles share the same address and veins are just smaller bridges. so he leaped off the edge of a knife and even though he felt like he never made the cut his wrists didn’t always feel so.
Good times are just cushions we try to rack up to fall back to when the bad times come. He’s been falling on the same cushion for so long it’s not different from the concrete.
The world is a dark room and he still hasn’t found the light switch.
On days like today, he tries with all the walk that ******* has left him.
On days like today, when the world is trying its hardest to prove to be black and white, he tries to be a gunshot in the spine of a rainbow.
When you die we’ll put two money stacks on your eyes cos heaven has to be far from this hell hole that we live in
But you know better than most that you know nothing about what comes after death.
So sail, sail on a canoe of timber and broken dreams on a river of your own blood. Cos maybe heaven is better believed than lived
I can't blurt out the sounds out of words
I've been meaning to tell
but I can construct sentences
with all the emotions that I have kept
Don't let a piece of paper define you
You write who you are
You don't rub out
You leave a mark

Your romance carved into trees
Your sadness watercolours of ink
Your happiness an explosion of paint
Your anger scrunched up beside the bin

You write essays on stories you don't care for
Read something that makes your heart cling to your chest seeking love
Something that makes your brain question the very beauty of life
Something that gives you goosebumps with feelings you cant explain

They are scared of how strong you really are
Schools don't educate they dictate
Educate yourself
You are the greatest teacher

Your brain is the self made nuke
They are scared you are going to blow
A war that is your true self
Its better to fight standing than fearing on your knees.
I've got more issues
Than the daily news
You don't even know the half of it
You're so full of it
You said "last time" last time
I'm guilty until proven innocent

Everything has a shelf life
I'm ******* up left and right
Please excuse my bad taste
As I build my persona and reinvent the wheel

These are the paths we follow
These are the lives we lead
We believe in our own lies so hollow
Mesmerized by their majesty

You have allotted powers
And a cognitive prerogative
To appropriate
The procreate
We co-create
Something concrete

Awestruck by the rhetoric
And the ironic ruckus
Of the fire truck up in flames
And the destructive rumpus of the ambulance taking lives in vain

It's nature verses nurture
You're blessed with life
Premeditate
And respect your life
What is sadder
than the poem
you forgot to save
vanished forever
into digital darkness?

Where do words go
when computers forget
and memory fails?

Is there a
dead letter office
for lost poems
and in which
circle of hell
would that be found?

Do the poor lost poems
huddle and keen
knowing no lips
will ever sing them?

Too many mysteries
for an ordinary morning.

Birds and lawn mowers
call out for justice
but the lost poem
purrs just beyond reach.

   ~mce
Save, save, save
she exhales in outcrops of lilies of the valley
and cries with the echo of a landslide
     but when she laughs
the sun himself rushes to brush against her burial mound cheeks
and pretend he was was the spark that launched her into bated birdsong
shoutout to the sun beams, and mom's mossy gardens.
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