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Don't let him hear you move
Don't let him hear you breathe
Because the moment he does
Will be the moment he seethes

Thunder without lightning
A hailstorm of teeth
What he thinks he's fighting
So easily beyond me

Don't let him know you live
Because that, he will not stand
The occupant above us
Is a truly troubled man
I really should write the perfect line
With perfect will and aim and time

And I really should do a lot of things
That I keep on hoping tomorrow'll bring

But it never seems to bring it
Just like I never seem to write it

I had meant to think of a happy ending
Or at least of a good one




Oh, bother
Sometimes things, like poems and people, they end up on paths that nobody intended for them.
It is okay to embrace a miss, I think.
I arch my shoulders to my cheeks
And press my weight upon my feet
Agress my chest unto my knees
This shape I take; anxiety
She is sprawled; a vast expanse
Her eyes are islands in the dark
Her breath pulls in and the seas abide
She takes a look through your eyes

"I am alive"
To be alive
Is to be adrift.

To fight the sea
Is to know futility.
Feeling feelings
Thinking thoughts
Acting like a body
Attached to a rock
There's something strange and tempting
All around me.
I feel you, unrelenting,

Gracing my something from somewhere.

Floating like a figment in the air
And you're so high up, we can't see you there,
But I know that you're somewhere.

My eyes are pinching close
Trying to spy your ghost;
Prove to myself that you're out there.

Like a wind dancing light on my skin,
I feel you at it again,
And at their end is my every hair.


If only you'd hold me closer.
I'd like to know that you really care.

My sweet, strange and unreal rover,
I'm getting older; wearing out all of my over-wear.


There's something strange and tempting
Tugging at me.
Almost begging to be,

To be my something from somewhere.

I'm longing, looking and I'm delighted to seek,
Though I'm still straining to see;
Oh, which form would you ask of me?

You could make yourself up most anywhere.

Your gaze is set and pressing through my being.
Because you're all that I see,
I'm staring into my mirror.

I guess I'm lucky it's to me that you speak,
From your elusive unseen,
Caught in your soft-spun somewhere.
There is something calling to each of us, from some unseen otherworld. My something, or at least the mask I attribute to it, whispers a song of delight, whimsy, and oddly mirrored natures. There are as many modes with which to love as there are reasons for the feeling.
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