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drip drop goes the red sea from the gorge of empathy flowing free and abstract to the origin masonry where the crystals build and the red wine spills where the homeless are rich and the sheltered diminish where the heat cools and welcomes snow and the cold brings sweating and a feverish vampire glow where we learn zombies are not the dead but the living faking a smile and serenity is a feeling found somewhere in the mild drip drop flows the river do we dare to cross
I am the author of my pain
Because it is my fault thoughts of you still pass my brain
god can't save my aim
my blood vessels explode as I write
while I implode in life
My heart is a confederacy seceding from my brain
They go to war my every waking moment
My brain wants to free me from your slavery
While my heart still cling's to the memories
 Jun 2015 ShitHead
Alexis
Lesson
 Jun 2015 ShitHead
Alexis
I try to hold my heart together.
I can't keep doing it forever.
Everything is broken,
And everything is gone.

I let time pass,
But,
I feel every bit of pain,
All over again,
Every morning.

And I miss you,
And I ache for death.
I know that I am worthless.
 Jun 2015 ShitHead
Vinay Kr
Live your life like it is a poem,
And you are the words that complete it.
Live your life like it is a painting,
And you are the canvas of the divine.
Live your life like it is a song,
And you are the note arising from the unknown.

The rest is just survival, mundane.
 Jun 2015 ShitHead
Sa
Let's weave a cloth
using thread of lies,
one colored in your biases
the other in mine.

You believe what I tell you
& I will believe in you,
but take care to remember
what you say isn't true.

Let's keep it low key
& use only light colored threads-
a lie too bright
can show the lack of facts.

We'll use it to hide our skins
whenever
our sand castle we shall leave.
But careful!
Don't step out in the wind-
Beware of the power of truth
that takes the strength
out of this fabric we weave.
#lies #cloth #truth #wind
 Jun 2015 ShitHead
Hannah Beth
You sat on coloured carpets
As a child
Wondering when the time would come
To grasp certain four lettered mysteries -
Titled love, life. Both questions for another day.

You stand now on technicolour floors
Painted, though not quite as vivid
Manufactured this time round - glass mirror-bred tricks of the light.

And all those mysteries from so long ago - far off questions left for a far off day - they baffle you just the same.
nearly nineteen and still clueless as hell
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