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  Nov 2014 Harsh
Oco
sometimes i wonder
if the world i live in
is one i made up in my head
that exists only for me

and if that’s true
i don’t mind
because the world i’ve created
is filled with madness
but the best madness i’ve created for myself
is you
Harsh Nov 2014
There's an anchor in my chest,
and although it keeps me from drowning in these nightmare sweats,
my ribs are splintered,
my heart bruised from being weighed down so much.

I get a masochistic contentment from it, though.
There's a soft happiness I get from seeing
the small reminders of you that I see throughout my day,
although they inject adrenaline through my veins
and send constrictions through my lungs.

I've stumbled upon the gap where you normally walk
and I've fallen through the space you usually occupy.
I've tried to lean against the mere thought of you
but every time I've crashed against the cruel reality,
against the stinging realization.

I've become lost in these sheets,
trying to find you in the hole of my blankets
that caresses your curves and hugs your dimension.

I wish this anchor of my love hadn't fallen at your neck,
I wish my sentiment hadn't ****** you against a wall and bound you,
and it's not in the way we'd both prefer.
  Nov 2014 Harsh
Spike Milligan
Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
'I'll do a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use,
2B or not 2B?'
Harsh Nov 2014
The weather is really light out; the breeze is cool but these sheets are warm
and it's overcast but not cloudy.
It's the perfect weather to wear sweatpants and tee shir-
no, actually, it's the perfect weather to wear your skin atop mine.
The perfect weather to caress your curves under these soft sheets, letting my body warm yours, letting my hands hold yours, letting my eyes drown in yours.
It's the perfect weather to coat that lovely face of yours with happy kisses and smiles.
It's the perfect weather to talk about how we'll raise Marlye
and how big or small our house will be in Bremerton.
It's the perfect weather to lie down on your stomach
and list the reasons why you make me smile.
Harsh Nov 2014
This is not a poem, my dear.
This...
this is more than a code comprised of 26 letters, 10 digits, and a few punctuation symbols.
What you are carrying in your hand right now is more than just a few thousand pixels presented on a glass screen, it's more than just a string of words put together in prose.

What is being graced by those lovely hands and gorgeous eyes of yours is a piece of me; this is a tangible piece of my mind, darling. I give this (and many others like it) to you as a gesture of trust and love, but I just as well give this to you with a warning. I apologize if this seems...foreboding (among other things).

Along with my love, I present this piece of me unto you irretrievably. This is no childish box or chance trinket that needs wrapping. This...this is a glass-shelled grenade, darling. But don't worry, I've secured the pin with my heart-strings. This glass is blown from the grit and salt of my tears and sweat, my burning rage fueled the furnace. Splinters of my bones form the shrapnel, and a carved piece of my ever-beating heart fuels the whole mess.
This is raw. This is crude, it's unfiltered; call me Pandora, this is my box, in a way. It holds my hope, that someone will keep this piece of me safe, that someone like you will look past the crudeness and see the sentiment behind it.

This piece of me, I don't ask of you to string it up and wear it upon your breast, I do not ask you to flaunt it and keep it close to you at all times. Lock it up, shut it away, darling. It is not beautiful, neither am I. Feel free to bury it, go ahead and put it away. It is ugly, it is dangerous. You should not caress this piece of me, it is fragile and will not provide any comfort to you. I wish unto you no harm. I ask of you to keep it safe. Protect it from my demons, save it and myself from my nightmares. I apologize for the burden I have placed upon your graceful shoulders, but your inherent strength inspires me and gives me faith. I know I ask too much of you; you have my most sincere apologies.
I've given you everything I am, I have nothing more to give you.
You are perfect, my guardian angel, I am fragile and flawed...
protect me.
Harsh Nov 2014
I've always told you to look at the moon dear, and ******* a kiss when you see it, because chances are, I've done the same for you. I've always found this small comfort in knowing no matter how far fate may drag us apart, we'll always share the same sky.
There are many moons in this solar system we live in, but ours is a special moon. You and I have always looked at the same side of it; I’ll always kiss the same side of the moon as you will, my dear.
Harsh Nov 2014
It was like we were wrenched from Morpheus' grasp and shaken, until our eyes adjusted to the harsh light and our bones stopped their clattering. We make like tea bags and steep in hot water, letting the dregs of the past day settle at our feet.

We drag our feet through the quicksand pavement and trudge through the black-tar roads to work. War is rampant in the world and in people's hearts, we see murders on screen and deceit in the streets, we're observers to the horrors of humanity. All we can do is watch with pained eyes.

Our minds are barraged with arguments and advertisements, ethics have been defenestrated, our worries overpopulated, our patience stretched thin and beaten cacophonously. Our consciousness is beaten down with pessimism, our thoughts devoid of hope.

Our souls weep at the state of things, the martyrs gather in drones at St. Peter's gates. We do good only so people will be good to us, we greet each other with half-smiles, and half-truths. At the end of the day we drag home, our consciences heavy with the burden thrown upon us.

But we meet again, we kiss, we embrace, and we join hands and strip ourselves of these mundane garments, we’re a mass of hands and skin and long sighs and worn-out smiles,

and with tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.
http://youtu.be/VgoFzBqbSaU
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