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 Jan 2013 Jake Spacey
Zach Gordon
Stop chasing this fantasy.
If love is what it claims nothing will make it break.
Instead you bend to every word that she says.
To ease the wrath, you're so scared to face.

I guess you're just her little puppet.
I don't even know who you are anymore.
You're molded into something she created.
Left in the dirt, naked and humiliated.
 Jan 2013 Jake Spacey
Zach Gordon
Empty promises
Lack of connection
It's been awhile since we've spoken

Voice fading in the distance
Thinking back on the memories

That's all they are
***** and rusted
Lying on the bookshelf
Useless and dusted
Stupid sticks
And pokes
On your hands
Street writes
Pen types
Ball point
It stuck into
The dots
On my hand
Scratches
At my door
Awakened
By the teenage
Angst
A *****
Savaged
Feeling
Of them
Walking
Through the door
Smacks
Me
In the face
The carpet
Stained
With
All the kissing
All the missing
Pieces
Slaughtered shadows
Broken windows
The glass
It's in my feet
It's moving
Crawling up
Dancing
On my spine
All the time
Now
It's
Leaving
I can feel it
Waving goodbye
Dying
Inside me
Trying
To find
Me
My dreams are compact

and filled with bored accountants waiters leaving second hand shops
in fashionable post codes,

dressed like bit part actors
carrying spare hands,
gripped at the wrist,

dangling.

Their voices are a magical shrill,
a goats bleat
a synthesizesr whoop,
mesmerizing pigeons
and paper sellers
alike.

And you know how it is,
when you find you share a name
with a famous person

you look for frames of references,
points of similarities
but you find none,

only that you share the same name.
I hate this love
That's locked away
It's staring at me
Right now
In this very second
It's spitting on me
I can feel it
All around me
It's in my bubble
It's breaking my space
Crossing my line
And I can see it
In my mind
One hundred
And fifty one times
Flashing
This red color
Of love
That'***** me
One to many times
I still taste
The busted blood
On my lips
I can feel the lumps
In my throat
And on the back of my head
Oh and ****
I taste whiskey
The cheap ancient
Whiskey
On my breath
And when we kiss
I see the explosions
Of a **** show
The blood
The cheats
The puke
The violence
This is love
For me
That's how
It will
Always be
From now
Until
I die
 Jan 2013 Jake Spacey
Zach Gordon
I'm sick of this empty sympathy.
It's the small things that count like the gift you gave me.
Uncle, if you can hear me
I just want to thank you for caring.

It's got everybody feeling sorry for me
but I don't want a ******* pity party
What more can you ask of me?
I'm so ******* sick of apathy.
This is a long paragraph, but it explains a lot about this poem. I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was  12 years old.  While sitting in the hospital scared and upset many friends and family came to visit and everyone had the same thing to say, "I'm sorry," but it seemed so apathetic. I remember thinking that I would have rather they just didn't say anything, because I was sick of it. My uncle who died two ears ago from cancer came to visit me and I remember him walked through the doors of the room the hospital had me staying in and he just had a grin on his face and he handed me a bag of sugar-free candy, I didn't even know they made sugar-free candy, and he gave me a hug and said he loved me. That meant the world to me, I'm ******* holding back tears just typing this right now.  Sugar-free candy has these things in them called Sugar Alcohols, which at the time we didn't know what they would do to me.  Turns out that if you aren't used to them they will just give you bad diarrhea.  He didn't know that, and when he found out there was sugar alcohol he immediately felt guilty about it, and on his deathbed I was visiting him for one of the last times and he decided to apologize to me for giving me that candy, because he thought it could have killed me.  Seeing how much pain he was in and he still apologized to me destroyed me, I tried so hard to tell him how much that meant to me, but I couldn't get the words out through crying.  Even if that candy would have killed me, I would have died happy knowing people loved me.  It truly is the thought that counts and I know he was thinking about me. I just pray he knows that. I love and miss that dude and I regret far to often I didn't tell him that.  This poem is just a small amount of what I was feeling that day.
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