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 Feb 2013 George C
Brandon Webb
2 PM:
I'm brushing my teeth
been awake two hours
cause I had no reason to wake up earlier.
Thinking it would be nice
if someone texted me
wanting to hang out.
thinking it  would be great
if she texted me
for any reason at all.
but nobody will
cause nobody cares
and I sleep for 14 hours a night on the weekends
knowing i'll go nowhere when awake.

My phone vibrates
and I tell myself
"it ain't her, that's for sure"
but  it is
with a simple
"hey :)"
i respond
she answers me with
"I was thinking about you today"
And for a second I smiled wider than I had in months
But she had only tried a tea I'd recommended.
I tried to keep talking
but she was waiting for a lunch date
and instead of saying what I was thinking
(that i'd never been on a real date,
never eaten with anyone other than family
and family friends.
never sat anywhere waiting for anyone
because nobody ever shows up for me
and I'm not allowed to go anywhere anyway)
I said
"I hope you have a good time"

No response


10 PM:
I watch her get on facebook
and wait 15 minutes before messaging her
"hey, how're you"
she take eight minutes
to say she's too good to be true.
I say
"that's great :D what's goin on?"
her response is simple
"I don't know how to explain"

I leave her alone
and we don't talk
but I sit there and stare at the ceiling
crying without realizing
wishing I had been a part of her being that great
wishing I had been a part of anyone being that great
But I hadn't and I haven't ever.

But what am I to her
when she texts me  
(something only my ex has ever done)
and then someone changes her day
someone who isn't me
and then she won't talk to me

The answer is one I can't wrap my mind around
one I don't want to accept
and maybe that's why I'm crying:
I'm just a friend to her
and I want to be more
but I never will be.

I'm just a friend
and that's how she can go from thinking about me and texting me
to not talking to me
in eight hours
 Feb 2013 George C
Ris Howie
"You deserve better than smoke filled hands"
uttered from one a.m. alcoholic lips
yet blunt and utterly truth,
this truth, this veritas
released unknowing of just how poignant it was.

Poetry,
from the alcoholic lips
of ex- adolescent lovers.
 Feb 2013 George C
Sammie wells
I'm still here where you left me
crumpled on the floor,
ripped an torn
with swirling thoughts
running through my head.

I'm still here where you left me
sore an bruised
can't seem to move.

I'm still here where you left me,
broken,
Sore,
Ripped
torn,
where you left me,
Laying in despair..

Defeated.

(SW)
 Feb 2013 George C
Ian
Every song rings with them, their bittersweet echoes seep into the melodies
Every photo bring us back to a time we yearn for
Every day marks the beginning of another love, another loss, another memory
We are polluted with memories
We create memories every day
And each new one never really leaves
It simply manifests itself in a different facet of our lives
Be it a place,
A song,
A shirt,
A person,
The possibilities and triggers are endless
Living with them will bring everything from tears to joy
We may be poisoned by them
Or we may be lifted by them
But they are there, whether we like it or not
And just like the coffee stain on my desk
My memories will never leave me
Child
Wakes up beneath the open sky, he is confused.
He has fallen asleep in his tracks  just a few steps from his tent.
He unfurls his tiny body and with sleep still in his eyes he looks up in wonder, 
Seeing the stars for the first time. 
Child shivers, a cool breeze disturbs the night air,
And in a voice too meek, too small, to properly taste the words on his lips he asks me:
Thomas, am I alive? Or am I an angel?

Child, in this moment is Peter Pan.
Welcome to Neverland this world is yours-
Thats right, its more than just stories, its 
The innocence in his voice and, the awe in his eyes
Its almost as if he transcends time, Child is alive between
Point A, and point A
He sends shivers down my spine as he wakes up to the beauty
Of a world he does not yet understand; doesn’t even need to 
As long as he never stops wondering, 
Always searching, for the ends of rainbows.

Child, 
Wraps himself in the blanket draped from my shoulders
Gazes up at the flickering stars in the sky
Every one of those belongs to you, I say
But Child is asleep once again,
To play among the lost boys, and little Indians, and friendly
monsters in his mind, let the wild rumpus begin!

I pull my sleeve over the hook that is my hand, 
Child is not ready for that yet.
 Feb 2013 George C
Daniel Kenneth
Originality is dead
Everything that can be done
Has been done
And creativity is a joke
Because the words he writes
Have been said a hundred times in a hundred different ways
Better or worse, its the same
And that sameness is suffocating
For an individual is the highest from of life
And the mob has overwhelmed him
To the point where he can't see why
He should bother fighting for his life
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