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Nov 2015 · 548
Brushed Forest
EblenF Nov 2015
I can't hear him over the sound of his own weak resolve
I can't hear her over the chasm of years gone by and years to come

I lied.
They thought the problem solved.

At night I would trace lines on angels' hands
Once
Twice
Three times
Solved

I ate of the jungle and slept by the river
He breathed in the fire and kept in the sick.
He listened
He had a story for every scar
But I did not
I would have carved roses from bone and skin
and given them to her
He'd face an army if they tried to take the same from him

And her  
Eyes now dry of that which once stained them
A witch with no wish
save for those for herself
A mountain out of a molehill, who painted her lips with sin.

Then there's the people outside of myself

A man with broken knuckles, handing out toffeed sweets.
Parents with cigarette stained lips
and mother and father
caught in their game.
  
Without and within
                                                
Et fin

Because I want to spend more of my time
drinking water from glass bottles
and asking her to tell me about the weather.
Oct 2015 · 786
Moments Bet ween
EblenF Oct 2015
Put on a shirt
Go to work
Maybe flirt
Lock your room
Go to sleep
Wait for dreams
Do it over and over while you wait
During those moments in between
Wait until you can start a fire
In a forest
or in their chest
Wait until you can move the wind
with mobile machines            
Wait until you can inhale a hole
right through the centre of your head
Wait until you waste away
and eat those cherry seeds
Share your drink
Wait and read your magazines
Colour the world beige
and wait
For something    


Anything  


                        
that can make you scream


Wait for me in those moments between
Oct 2015 · 659
Sins of the Mother
EblenF Oct 2015
I was three
She decided that she'd rather be free
Or we
She decided that we'd rather be free
I was six and she'd get clean
For him
For us
For her?      
For her
That was the right answer
I was nine and a twitch was all she could muster
For me        
and them
and her
and us
I was twelve and I told her I'd rather be a gap and a mean.
A scrap of white where the crayon slipped over.          
For me
and only me
Maybe when I'm thirty
I'll have it down pat        
Maybe three year gaps and the voices between                
Will steal your soul and unravel your seams
Maybe I lied and maybe I didn't
and maybe
all I really want
is
a
dream

— The End —