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 Sep 2015 Heliza Rose
Monika
When he asks you to write about him, remind him that you are not that kind of poet. When he asks you to describe his eyes, stop yourself from telling him how bright they are and how they remind you of the stars you stare at in the late night. Do not tell him they are brighter than any of those stars and while they may not light up the whole sky, they sure as hell light up your heart. Instead, smile and tell him that they are just blue – nothing is very special about them. He will ask you why your hands and lips tremble when you're with him, but you mustn't explain how fast your heart beats when he looks at you, or how sometimes you swear your lungs fill up with smoke when you hear him laugh soundly because of something you said. You shouldn't write about him, because you're not the kind of girl that writes about someone who could be here one day, and easily gone the next.
"I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars."
Your absence sits on my skin
As layers and layers
Of melancholia
Feeding off
My flesh and bones
Until I am no more
But melancholia.


F.Z.N
My body is a house
holding dead things inside


My sanctuary desecrated.
I meet the love of my life everyday. She's that girl I met at the shops; at the bar ordering a cocktail for three; on the street giving change to a homeless man. Last week I met her filling up that Diahatsu. It might as well have been a Lamborghini or a rocketship. None of it made sense but her.

She's nothing special wrapped inside everything I've ever dreamed of. She's the vision I catch a glimpse of when I imagine what it's like to be happy. The endless collapsing of short lived memories. Voids filling with the putty of a tender fantasy. If I could grab you and share my reality. If I could explain my mind in words that made me sound sane. If only that worked.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
When I look in the mirror I hate what I see
I look and I see someone unknown to me
But hey that's okay I'll be okay soon
On the way up to heaven, past the moon
Just thinking.
 Jul 2015 Heliza Rose
Arlo Miller
He's there at airports and doctor's offices
between my love and I and when I'm at work

and when I invite him to come out and stay with my friends
and at family gatherings on holidays he never shows

I say, "Time, you're starting to **** me off."
He replies, "You should see me when I'm wasted."
“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.” - Albert Einstien
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