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 Nov 2017 Rambo
Autumn Stott
It goes something like this:
You spend years clawing through the hearts of men, one drunken night at a time. When you wake up in the mornings, you kick them out with one last kiss, and pretend you haven't forgotten their names already. You walk into the kitchen, pour yourself a cup of stale coffee, decide caffeine just isn't going to cut it, and crack open a beer instead. You stare blankly at the dust particles dancing around in the sunlight and wonder how long it would take to count them all.
You get to one hundred and give up.
You spend the rest of the morning wondering when things got this bad.

It goes something like this:
You get in the shower. Shave your legs. Wash your hair. Conceal your imperfections, coat your lips bright red. You look in the mirror and realize you don't know the person looking back anymore. That is your face. Those are your green eyes. Your crooked teeth. But it is not you. You stare at your reflection so long that the room around you becomes a blur. Your heartbeat begins to race but you cannot stop. You keep staring. Keep analyzing. Keep wondering when you became a stranger to your own body. When you finally snap out of it, you decide to run.

It goes something like this:
You pack your bags. Some socks. A pack of cigarettes. A bottle of whiskey. Just the necessities. And you run. You run and you run and you don't dare stop to look back. You don't want to change your mind. It's four in the afternoon and you're supposed to be at work. You almost feel bad for not showing up. Almost.

It goes something like this:
You get to the edge of a town that hasn't felt like home for years, and you take it all in one last time. You can't help but smile. You're finally free. You put your thumb in the air until a familiar face stops. He asks where you're headed. You tell him you don't care where you go, as long as it's beautiful. And this time, you promise not to forget his name.
 Oct 2016 Rambo
Midnight Rain
paint me a lily
pure white with a bright gold
one that is curled up
just half open
paint it with your hands
so the fragrance is
never lost
and press it between the
pages of a book that has held your tears
and when years later
you find it
with paint worn
and a white lily half torn
think of me as your fingers trace
the gold that had bled through
so many of your pages
Forever Tainted
 Sep 2016 Rambo
Funhouse reflections,

Not all mirrors are honest.

Choose what you will see
 Sep 2016 Rambo
Jeremy Washko
One if by fire two if by sea, I travel far and wide to find the heart of me. Within the realms of earth and sky, grounded in conscience lifted by soul. In the longing to be whole I fell and lost the truth I seek.

One if by fire two if by sea, rivers run red this heart once shed every drop in that was humanity. My gut I lost trust in, these feelings play games. Semi circle i spin never finding justice in sin, is this my reality.

One if by fire two if by sea, forever I wait subtle smiles hide misery. Yearning for their touch. Knowing now this void I made no one could jump, independence I wanted inadvertently pushed everyone away inevitably now my crutch.

One if by fire two if by sea, I can't hold on un able to let go. Left in the past innocence to a future unknown. Subtle nostalgia brings wavering peace, like a night fueled by liquid passion, the mourning sun unable to let me grow, there is no easy release.

One if by fire two if by sea, I walk this road alone, no longer feeling the company. Great triumphs we made, through hardships we knew an unspoken bond. Now I must leave home we knew this all along. Always knowing now what it means to be a family, for a while there my brothers brought out the best of me.

One if by fire two if by sea, the end I find is still unknown to me. The effervescent water of love always in my veins. The incessant fire of hope slowly burns my bones the same. When full circle I leave this place the ashes I made not with out trace.

One if by fire two if by sea, my fire the sun that shines bright. This body of water luminescent under the moon light. When my day will end I become horizon colorful embodiment of earth and sky, where passion of the sun meets calming waters. This is where my soul will lye.
 Sep 2016 Rambo
David Barr
Let us walk across hot coals with a spiritual guide, where somber chords heartily communicate a joyous morbidity - chanting forbidden licentiousness in the name of dilapidated psychological constructs.
Can I have permission to delve into the unfathomable abyss of your kaleidoscopic soul?
As we claim to have spun quite the web of deceit in our contemporary societal fabric of advancement, then let us now join hands in celebration around this presumed magic circle, ensuring that connection between the dampness of our soul and pleasurable resentment is not divorced from the ghastly genitalia of grammatical deviance.

— The End —