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I can keep it all to myself
the things you said to me
the things you did
it's mine forever
it's mine alone
the things I wish I did
the things I wish I said
I should have put a bullet
in your pretty little head
I can keep it all to myself
the things I said to you
the things I did
the things I thought
it's mine forever
it's mine alone

Instagram was a graveyard
of memories that came to pass
my ex shared a picture of our son
on the backseat of his car
with their hands touching
whoever "he" is
I wonder if he knows
all the nasty **** you love to do
the ****** up thoughts you keep
the thoughts that keep you
so very far away from me

Now Instagram is a nightmare
a collage of everything
that makes me sick to breathe
it's where my dreams died
and reanimated
as someone else's
and that's ok because
in a way
they are still mine forever
his and mine alone

If we ever touched again
that would be
our very own cosmic Hiroshima **** up
I wonder how many souls we'd stamp out?
I wonder how many dreams would die?
mine are at the forefront of my mind
the dreams I had of us together
as the happiest three man band
the world has never seen
I Stanislavski my way through life
I am and I am not
a piece of *****
I put myself in situations
scenarios racing through my head
and try to imagine
exactly what it would feel like
to be dead

my inner theatrical sense of self
the activeness of an energetic personality
how sad to know
that this is not
nor will it ever be my faculty
"Hi my names Suzan, I work at Applebee's."
She was transparent,
blunt and beautiful.
what she lacked in grace,
she made up for in good times.
I remember the face she would make
when she laughed at my stupid jokes.
her eyes would squint and her mouth
would shrink right before it widened
stretching from corner to corner
showing her lovely white teeth.
She wore a dark red shade of lipstick,
loved my writing, the poetry and songs.
I miss her pinot grigio kisses
and her nicotine scent.
She left me at Heathrow airport
and on her way she went.
She was going to be an actress
and I was going to be
whatever I was going to be.
She saw the best and the worst in men.
I wonder though, what she ever saw in me.
It's 7:27am
and I still haven't slept
it's probably for the best
even when I sleep I get no rest
I wake up in sweat and out of breath
if sleep was really the cousin of death
I'd be inclined to get more of it
wakefulness is stress but sleep
sleep is something else
sleep is torture for the depressed
sleep is something you tell yourself you need
when your world comes crashing down
when you see no need to get dressed
sleep is what you fall in to
when there's no more stimulation
no more coffee, no more elation
something you do post ******
usually from *******
if you could see my dreams
you'd think of Stephen King's
The Shawshank Redemption
except without redemption
just the seeping hateful retention
It's 7:17am
and I haven't slept
I've been playing chess
and watching videos about people
probably perceived as less fortunate
one man had a condition from birth
that left him without cheek bones
and his parents rejected him
after 36 hours in the hospital
when he was growing up he worried
"I thought I'd never be intimate with anyone."
he explained and went on to mention
that he hated being stared at
he recalled his first love
her name was Beth
she wore skinny jeans and liked the same music
and eventually left
I felt the pain he felt at reading his adoption notes
how his parents were horrified by his appearance
and felt no maternal or paternal connection to him
when he was just a little bundle of love
I almost shed a tear myself
when he told of the time he wrote to his parents
then in his 20's he felt it was time
they replied with a letter
that said they did not want to hear from him
and that any future attempts to make contact
will be ignored entirely
So you're happy now
with another man
at home with our son
I will always be his dad
you told me
and I thank you

Just so you know
I never stopped loving you
I never stopped being ****
but I never stopped loving you
when your skin is liquid
and your teeth rattle in your skull
I will still love you

When the earthworms
use your eye sockets as tunnels
and when all men have either forgotten
or are too scared to speak your name
I will still love you
you deserve to be happy
and you are right to move on
if you feel as though your dreams with me
are truly dead and gone
just know that I still love you
love the father of your son
there are good souls in this world
shrouded in weathered skin
dry and cracked
with scowls hung upon their face
balancing on the scars of their brow
just as there are bad souls in this world
hiding under plush skin
their faces adorned with kind eyes and
cherry red lips made for kissing
or spitting with rage

picture a gorgeous brunette
with fair skin, bold eyebrows
and her hair in a subtle
yet nineteen-thirties style updo
wearing a red chiffon summer dress
the sun beats down on her
as she glistens with light perspiration
espresso in-hand cigarette in the other
her pale soft skin no match for
the thirty degree heat outside
of this café she nonchalantly finds herself
she is the epitome of carefree beauty

she kicked her lovers dog outside this morning
exiling him to a six hour long toilet break
after she "forgot" she had let him out
before leaving to go shopping
whilst her feller finished his shift
because the dog is old and smelly
and gets almost as much attention as her
she even saw his pensioner neighbour
struggling to take the bins out
as she walked to her car
and laughed rather than help
because she always
thought Mary was a no good Jew
she even called her Mrs. Goldstein
"Have a nice day Mrs. Goldstein."
but Mary's surname is Cohen

picture this beautiful girl a siren
leading good men astray
she can get any man she wants
and plucks only the finest
most succulent
I mean successful
and well put together men
from gardens of bachelors
maturing in the hardships of city life
she has plenty choice but she's fickle
you see, her man has to be almost perfect
for it to be as enjoyable as possible
to watch his life unravel and unfold
into everything he wanted it not to be

achievable only through toxic beauty
her joy is venom soaked insides
of lovers caught in a sultry web
of lies, ambition and ***
she loves a scandal
or a text sent to the wrong person
and she has everything to hide
but does nothing to do so
she gets by just fine
being beautiful and sickening  
and sickeningly beautiful
you know the sort
she is a bad, bad girl
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