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Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
My love is my own
and torn
it rarely grows.

But I promise to show
as much
as I could ever give

It's not much to live by
much less than her expansive sky
more like a stone.

and I hope you understand
Your love is also your own

and I know
that you have an ocean's depth
of love to spread

but you started as a river

I began
just a grain of sand
buried with
the slightest shiver

and each love
has no clone

but if you'll agree
I will bathe you in my own
or you can wait
as I cultivate my love
for that strength is mine alone
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
the feeble wings are crumbling
are you forgetting
that tonight you need not fear change
breaking wide open, but it's beautiful

I wish here for your fertility
let light blast
darling shine
surrender show your darkest crime
to see you blown fiercely apart is not terrifying
it's a beautiful form
now all pieces are visible
same from further harm

I will guard the best ones
collect them when you're ready
later, you will grow strong
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
there is a boy who sits in the rain. Right smack on the ground, in the asphalt and dirt, but mud will not ***** further a stain of his token. and this boy is not forgiven, he is desperately lost in the state of broken-barely living which he feels suits him best. for this boy is willing to open wide, take the perverted inside for a price outweighing coins. At the moment they join, in whispered breath, he collects a secret as cold as death. They range from immoral to revolting; each twisted and shameless, yet not enough to dissuade the boy from his task. because this boy is searching for a murderer, solely to ask:

does the guilt make it your fault?

               they promised it was not mine at all

And each secret held in his chest has two culprits or more. More than one have committed the same folly. They are disturbed and cracked but not caught, living freely. The filth has a chance to wash clean; they are able to repair themselves. But the murderers? No second chances. Thus they do not come to the boy; they are found by the law. Visible in society and chained in view of the innocent, this boy’s ears echoes with their sins. All the killers of people, spouses, strangers, parents, children, friends, vibrancy. All because of anger, revenge, fetishes, sicknesses...deemed despicable they were left to rot. and that eight year old boy could never understand why they granted him innocence when he was caught. and this twenty-three year old boy will sit in the rain, drenched in sweat as he visualizes the fire and feels the burns that rain cannot extinguish, whilst staring at an empty land plot. and this boy trembles, caressing an old, withered cigarette pack that is one short. Since years ago, this boy has not recognized his worth.
change it later
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
is quite different from which I imagined her to be.
A little unorthodox, her grey lines pile up and the path chosen for me
even holds a touch of colour. The red seeping from the pebbles
becomes a rather dangerous flood. I had never believed she might use blood when the dice I had rolled landed on a double six. To most, it would seem her sense of luck is sick. Now, poor Lady Luck has been addressed most rudely with the vilest names by those who claim her to have switched with a wicked cousin. The have linked her name with Curse, Misfortune, even Hopelessness at times, oft because their eyes have dulled and they insist on the sun to shine. Ignored on the days of mist, I wouldn't blame her should she leave. For most of the used disclaim her aid if the Lady comes not with ease.
rough, I'll likely change it later :)
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
A twisted form of angel,
he's a demon in the light.
Brilliant array of feathers
'fore the eagle prepares his
strike. Tsunami risen to ruin
from a gentle hazel tide. I
came to love his pretty things
since pretty never lies. But
beauty couldn't hide the
burning sun, he wrought me
dry. Oasis wasn't deep enough
to stifle up my cries. I wrestled
brave with golden chains that
locked me to his side. Securely
bound on his wicked ride, I'm
afraid of pretty things. Yet, I
decline to run when my heart,
it sings: What a pretty thing. What
a pretty gooorgeous thing - to see
a demon while there's light. Ready
to burn though he owns the night.
His vices I thought a pretty thing,
I'd faith, drowned in his soulless
eyes, that his pretty must not lie.
Emily Pidduck Oct 2014
Hurry up and disregard me
disentangle from me
leave me ravaged and wrangled and slow
heavy and weak from every inch of you that had blended well
into the crooks.

It took you just a single look to capture me
enrapture my eyes
How I swirled in the delicacy of your lies
It was wickedly wonderful, thrilling
I was willing to be tortured, abused, mortified
It was the perfect sort of killing
drowning and I loved the water
blazing and I loved the sun
bleeding but I loved the blood, that mud from us
that drug

Without you here I've begun to thrive
Incredibly alive!!!
Yet, I start to rain when the thunder booms
I commence the pain in this empty room
I feel the silence, that deathly cold
as my spirit molds into beautiful gold.

This freedom air is growing sparse
My soul freshly bared
left open, frozen

Don't stay there, I need you here.
Pull me down to your broken layer
When the destruction was so perfect, and you wish for moments when they might reappear.
Emily Pidduck Oct 2014
Quite something
You feel nothing
But you're walking a road you can't see

Haven't broken
Since she chose him
But you're not holding on, just numb

Ten was too young for loss
and Twelve was no age for using
the cost was at Fifteen, you were sinking
thinking of suicide.

Eighteen was wrong for selling
to your brother, he was Six years younger
at Thirteen he lay broken
legs wide open, plunged inside
for drugs he loved
to the ages of
young, prime and ripe
Your frozen heart wondered why.

Papa blames you and Mama hates you
But you don't cry
only handcuffs weigh you down

Plaguing your mind:

"If I serve time, might I understand why
the numb grew strong and the love died?"
rough, but hey, it's late...
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