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Eric Hormuth Jul 2015
Our lungs inflate and deflate, slowly
As my fingers idly trace the small of your back
With eyes and mouths shut
Our souls linger somewhere over our bodies

Your weight pressed against me contrasts sharply
With our ghostly counterparts
Intimately congealed
In a way our flesh fails to match
Eric Hormuth Jun 2015
We're all still teenagers writing about love
Like *** can save
Dropping coins into a fat, pink piggy bank
With a hole in the bottom

Merely a bad investment,
All your sense is rolling off the table
On to the ***** bedroom floor
Where you lend love in hopes of incurring interest
Eric Hormuth Jun 2015
It’s a lie, it’s a lie, that I turned out alright
On southbound highways leading into the depths of past mistakes
Feelings of insecurity getting in the way
And you tell yourself “it’s all going to be ok”
Is it all going to be ok?

I’ve already lost everything there is
To complain about,
Empty house, emptier mind
Floating, drifting, down a sonic tide
Where sound waves turn me gently on my side

Let gentle beauty surrender to vicious vice
Calling me down the mountain for the night
Where one turns into four and four to sixteen
I’ve been worshiping this **** calf for over two weeks

We are the pretender, our commonality being a levee of lies
Cracking against the aggressive weight of truth

Inconsistency remains in all but my flaws
Eric Hormuth Mar 2014
It wouldn't be cliché
If It wasn't true

I feel alone
in crowded
Eric Hormuth Mar 2014
He dresses quickly
Though he knows not what for
With no where to be, he creeps

slowly across the linoleum floor
Dwelling despised; he drowns

In coffee always
The bitter elixir stings his throat
Keeping him wired for reasons unknown

And as he looks through
The window's covered face

He sighs
What a terrible pleasure to be alive
Eric Hormuth Mar 2014
Life happens when we're by ourselves
With no one to perform for
Or tell us everything will be alright
Or remind us we've ******* up
One too many times

It's then that we decide whether or not we like ourselves
My own contemplation knows no end
Eric Hormuth Mar 2014
She oft praises the strokes of my pen
Yet when her image comes into mind
The words in my head run thin
And my ink runs prematurely dry

I have not written a thing worth mentioning
For the girl with the cute button nose
The hand clasped ‘round my pen begins fidgeting
As my mind remembers her toes

I stare blankly at pages of paper
When my mind’s eye conjures her smile
My cerebral wells start to taper
Though my love for her flows as the Nile

The beauty of her body is not justified in text
So I will spare you the reading: her beauty is best
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