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a hot number and
you could see the dice smokin
her luck was on fire
life was a flash in the pan sweet
the glory of the hot hand
hounded when its thin
celebrated when its speakin
she walks with a swagger
and clutches the wages of her sin
alone on the pinnacle of power
looking down on the pretty city lights
plunder at her feet
her thoughts turn once again
to the real
how a single turn of the cards
could change it all
how the glory of the hot hand is so fleeting
see the cards turn her to cold stone
plunge her to the depths
but oh god that feeling
the glory of the hot hand
You see her sitting in the chair,
daydreaming, staring into thin air.
You wonder what she sees,
with her hands neatly folded on her knees.
You watch her for a while,
notice a girlish smile, see her eyes brighten then dim.
You know she's thinking of him.
Her husband long gone.
You see her tilt her head as if in conversation,
what is she thinking of now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sitting again in the chair.
With nothing to do but wait and stare.
He'll be along shortly to talk to me,
we'll have a good natter, about nothing that matters.
We'll remember the war, when we were young,
when we had fun, when we danced and walked,
and made daisy chains in the sun.
We made love by the moon, then, all over too soon.
I've waited a long time here, and while he comes to visit,
he's always young, wearing his uniform, and I am old,
and forgotten in a chair.
© JLB
20/08/2014
12:15 BST
Over the last few days
I have gone from sick,
to sick and weak,
to sick, weak, in pain, and tired
to fine;
I'm healthy as I've ever been,
and rested.

I seem to
have this connection
to the weather.
Just before
it's going to rain,
by which I suppose
I mean a few days at most
(?),
I feel anxious,
and sick,
and weak,
and in pain.

I'm still not sure,
and might never really be sure,
if
it's the meditation and breathing exercises,
or the rain and general passing of the storm
that make me feel better.

Did I have cold?
Could it have been the stomach flu?
Why did the Tylenol stave off the symptoms
long after they were supposed to,
but just before it started to pour?
Recent events.
This
         *
contained

                            energy
   Will be the
******* end of me
                      
     In my symphonic body I paint a note too hard to reach
     Still I speak as though im at the peak
    Staring down at fallen leaves

     Acknowledging to myself if I was to actually leap,
       I would already be on the ground

   No sound comes around as I scream from my mouth
           Temptation to change perceptions of me are too big to ignore
           They beget more of their own kind than before
       And now im staring up at that note from my bedroom floor
If I could reach it
       In the right key it might open a door
And let in fresh air to sink into my pores
  
This
         Contained
                              Energy
Could be the end of me
But I promise I wont let it
      I will strive to fly higher until I finally have spent it
Palms on the ground
     Sweat dripping down I know this is it
Never or now
                 Time's slowed to a drip
    I can hear laughter
     Such an overwhelming sound
    They won't laugh after
         I pick up this gun
    Life's had its run but now I'm done
          My mind has been won
    By depression and corruption
    Repression and reduction
        I've come to know and hate
      This bed that I woke up in
            Makes me wanna say **** this
        Tuck this in my backpack
And when one more ******* kid shoves me
          Then I'll attack back
      I'm tired of falling down
     Sweaty palms on the ground
          I can't take anymore
                Its never or


*RIGHT NOW!
My fingers are growing tired of writing about you.
Reliving our past will not bring it back,
The mistakes aren't going to just disappear
And I refuse to fight for the good times when I know you wouldn't do the same.
I don't regret our laughs,
Our talks,
The first time our lips met.
I regret how fast I fell for you charm,
And how I believed every single word you spoke.
I will never make the mistake of falling,
again.
 Aug 2014 purple orchid
Lauren
I don't want to talk about school or how your last test went or any small talk for that matter

I want you to tell me about that new book you've gotten lost in or the way your father's voice shakes as he erupts in anger and blame for the third time that day

Tell me about the scar that's just above your left eyebrow and why a candle is your favorite metaphor

Show me the hidden parts of yourself and for you I might do the same
Funny what you can find when you look through old writing
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