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The days of limericks
gone with the tide
thought as old fashioned
were they too hard to rhyme
or maybe thought childish
no longer taught in the schools
i hope we're not raising
a generation of fools
even old timers
seem to leave them alone
setting rhyme up with meter
is a skill that they hone
if we'd just write a few
and sharpen our mind
I think a lot of great poetry
is what we would find
No, what is life without fear?

Yes, what is growth without seed?

You have been an impostor to yourself,

and the mirror is opaque.

Tremors loom faceless choirs,

bellowing runes of disjoint.

Subconsciousness cradles reality,

and awakens the false soul.
when i first met you
i thought that you were to good for me
but now as i have figured out
i am not good enough for me
By the edge of the moors
Occupied by shadows cast
Its once closed doors
Unhinged by times pass

Centered in a golden arch
Above the mantle it spies
Generations of burning embers
And Masquerading lies

Benign to the naked eye
It's weft masks well
It's blood stained warp
Yet it holds dear
Within every woven thread
Lies the tapestry of fear
Chain smoking;
     three in the morning. Then four. Then two.
Red wine haze;
     street lights echoing in the stars.
Cold cheeks;
     cold toes, warm lonely champagne.
Missing notches in your spine that isn't there,
     too scared to go back to bed.
i've been 4 months clean or whatever they're definition
of clean is but i still crave you arms around my waist
and your whisper in my ear because what they never tell you
is that once your clean you also become cold
because you never want to risk falling in love and taking
the chance of becoming addicted;
it's so easy to become addicted
and so now i live in a world of black and white
with only bent polaroids and broken memories
to prove you ever existed
and maybe it shouldn't hurt this badly, maybe the consequence
of falling in love with you shouldn't pain me so but it does because
you had taken the same ink that you write poems with and
injected it into my veins and i've never been the same
since last july when you said that you loved me
and actually meant it,
i wonder; when did you stop meaning it?
was it the day you told me that you could never love
anyone or was it the day i told you that i didn't care

when people talk about falling in love, they always
make emphasis on the feeling, so i will say this:
falling in love with you felt like
injecting whiskey into your flesh and you like the
rush but you also feel the burn and you know
this will leave scars but you don't care because
*no one ever thinks about rehab
this is very bad and i might edit it and change it but yeah
1645

The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
For is it not his Bed—
His Advocate—his Edifice?
How safe his fallen Head
In her disheveled Sanctity—
Above him is the sky—
Oblivion bending over him
And Honor leagues away.
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