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 Dec 2017 kas
CE
wild berries
 Dec 2017 kas
CE
sweet in the way that poisonous berries are sweet until the hallucinogens kick in and all you hear are fire alarms and people around you point and laugh before they melt away like all earthly desires leaving only a hollow gaping godless hole in your chest
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
blue jeans
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
Love is a search, no,
a quest:
in the mephitic aisles of thift shops
in pursuit of the perfect pair
of jeans
because people are like
jeans (see
my logic here, it could be clever)
the majority don't fit, not at all
some slack, too large, sliding
off and away
some pinch, too tight, constricting
with imprinting red marks
worth neither time nor money
but some jeans do fit,  though
imperfect, perhaps unappealing
or loose here, or bunching there
all used, worn before,
possibly torn,
some able to be mended,
some not
Good, but maybe not good enough
better then, are the ones
the people, the pairs
of blue jeans
that are of the right proportions
near perfect, you'll never
find one as unique as this
they are reliable, familiar,
wonderful,
and unless you outgrow them
you'd keep them forever

but
there are lucky finds
once-in-a-lifetime
call them your soulmate
because these are the jeans
yes this is the one
and you will never find another
Metaphor
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
in pieces
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
Sometimes it seems only broken people can love
Because they're missing some pieces of themselves, unfulfilled
Half a person walking around until they find the next best thing to a match
The tales of losing those pieces are powerful, painful, and locked into their minds
Some were lost at the breaking of a friendship, stolen at the end of a relationship, or simply cast away
And some people were just born broken
Some people might have lines and cracks etching a topographical map of estuaries and rivers
That nourish their soul, splintered
But still solid
And finding someone to complete them isn't necessary
Maybe even toxic, because every bad affair ends in the loss of opportunity, hope, humanity, time, whatever makes up a person
And every sane person is at least a little bit chipped
Strange thing, love, even the Greeks thought we had snapped in two
And that might be a bit idealized, but we'll hopefully end up complete anyway
Even if we're a bit chipped, to fill in all the cracks with slip and life to bake our form
We must find love in ourselves
Would you believe that I wrote this poem for the broken people who can't love?
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
wonder
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
There's a certain imperative
That must be met to be one who writes about the affairs of the heart
It takes courage, to confront your emotions
To stare down the truth you harbor in your spirit
If you can search your soul and let it drip out of your fingers as art
Then you can truly be a masterpiece
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
clock
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
Can you feel it yet-
the ticking?

Have you looked at your eyes
and seen the lines in the corners
that indicate quarter past
unhappy existence, in the mirror

Have you recognized your ceramic veins
and how the movement of your
delicate quartz heart has slowed

Have you missed those minutes lost
to imperceptible error every day
while you try to count
a decreasing amount of carbon-14

Have your hands begun to hesitate
as your metallic mind moves
ever further from numeric resolve

Have you found yourself reminiscing
of the past, lost in time
keeping track of hours between
productivity and reward

Have you begun chiming for
a new jewel to touch
and forgotten your future talking

If you have held your wrist up to your ear
and heard the blood roar
foreshadowing when the tightly wound
spring of youth would lose its bounce

But yet, no matter the state
of your biological clock
I will continue to keep time
by you
12-3-17
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
unnatural
 Dec 2017 kas
C P X
Here is the threshold of another limit:
Tough are the natural walls
That surround my consciousness
Under the temporal manipulation of negative infinity
By influence of clerval and morgan coaxings
I had hoped to break through the terminal point
It's the creativity of myself
But it ends at the edge of my eye
With my synthetic leather jacket of sanity I'd rather crawl away
From Russia to Afghanistan
I believed I had it in me, elastic and artificial
But manufactured emotions cannot occur within
They only happen on your face
I would have liked to be the first to invent a plastic heart
A false aorta, synchronized with romance
A fresh soul, rutilated with inflection
Lungs, activated with imagination
A metal spine, automated with wonder
At some point I must have relinquished my humanity
I had hoped to create life in poetry but
What I have here is necromancy
Originality
 Dec 2017 kas
bailey goranson
the unopened texts.
the broken heart you left me.
i miss you so much.
 Dec 2017 kas
luci
floating
 Dec 2017 kas
luci
your eyes
            are
          so explosively
   captivating
                    i feel like i
   float in space
                 every time
      your blue
                    and
                          my green
               collide,
    creating a new earth.
i wish you felt the same
 Apr 2015 kas
Erali Pisce
You finally figured it out.
I'm not someone you should love,
not someone you want to love.
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