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My night time self
hates
my morning self
it's clear as night and day
they never did get along.

My night time self
stays up too late
never sleeps
always thinking
drinking, plotting, planning,
worrying about morning self's mistakes
smoking a thousand cigarettes
one **** over the line
eating chocolate bars
at one a.m.

While my morning self
an early riser
is the one
that has to get up
go to work
always corrects
and
lectures
dedicated to maintaining the structure.

My night time self
only thinks about himself
uses
the last piece of wood
won't bother setting up
the coffee maker
he's so cruel
stares into t.v. space
muttering about love's
he's never had.

While my morning face
has to face
the clutter of night time
disgrace
bottles,
lights blasting
computers running
another ***** movie going
hello poetry splattered on the walls
and another alcohol poisoned
Jersey blonde
stretched out across
the bathroom floor
while morning self
has to shave
and doesn't know her name.

Night time self
finally sleeps
god rest his soul
about the time
morning self
from his dreams
has to rise
rudely awakened by talk radio.
Morning self has to go out and play
the straightened out games
while the residue
of night time insanity
lingers,
a film
covering morning self's
pretense at sanity.
Responsible
ethical
moral
always has to pay the bills
for you know who.

I once tried to get them together
a meeting of these two
but it quickly dissolved
into
a
shouting match
across the twilight dew
never could get them together
they were as different
as
me and me
and
you and you.
"one **** over the line. . ." Brewer & Shipley, 1970.
I think I want to be in love again.
Once again to wear latex free gloves.
And my reason is.
Bearing in mind, that I'm not in the least bit *****.
i'm bored,sitting around daily writing pails of poetry,
I won't say buckets,
it's a word that everyone uses,
thought I abuse the English lingo,
a touch,
However I don't need to wear latex free gloves to touch upon the English language.
As somewhere between life and death,
I'm dying of boredom that it is,
I live my life in clinical gloves,
I'm pining for them,
I miss my job,
My head's done in,
I'm getting so bored,
it's coating my skin.
Bring on next week when I start my job...
hopefully.
(C) Livvi
I am nothing but footprints in the sand
to him.
Odious, he who left me to fight the tides,
promised me forever.
How long is forever?
                               Three years, two months,
                               Eleven days, an hour
                               and twenty-three seconds.
Now he’s back,
expecting a norm so chimerical.
But, disconsolate as I am,
sleeping ‘til body withered--
crying ‘til eyes dusted--
Yet he’s obdurate to this, my Odious.
No amount of imprecations
can succor this heartbreak.
My armored skin,
antiquated from battles long and harsh--
turned to mere paper against his words.
He has me by the corner,
above the red, red flame
and wants to act like I am not burning.
Such a silver tongue, my Odious,
he can fabricate like no other.

My dear Odious,
     Leave me to fight the tides,
     as I hope your Promethean fever
     leaves you as cold
     and as alone
     as your true heart.
Yours always,
     Detritus
You are laid in my arms.
You charm me as a snake does.
You kiss my lips,
My life with you is pure bliss.
I'm laying in the arms of heaven,
Chaste, but not pure.
You purr at me from a perfect distance.
Pray baby,
let us fly,
Let us cruise the purplish skies.
The clouds are black,
Now there's no turning back.
The corkscrew turns,
A pressure release.
This tormenting tiger,
Can be a loving lion.
So lets ****,
Let's **** each other up,
To the rhythm of the dark.
(c) Livvi
.At the middle of the bridge I stood, looking at the rocks below
One hundred feet, the drop would ****. I steeled myself, prepared to go.
Just as I was to hop the fence and get it over with and done.
I heard the sound of air brakes squeal; a bus stopped on its local run.

One passenger got off the bus; He was an old man grey and gruff.
The lines around his eyes suggested that he had often had it rough.
He looked at me with stern fixed glare and read my reason for being there.
With gentle words he saved my life, talked me off of my despair.

The years have passed, some good, others not
But never again was I in that spot, where I was tempted to walk on air.
I’m fortunate that he was there, an unlikely angel for an unspoken prayer.
Special thx to John F McCullagh   for the re-write.
I have faith in science.
GOD
created it after all!


SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 29, 2014
O:-)
 Sep 2014 John F McCullagh
Amanda
As her fingertips brushed through the fragile pages;
familiar notes of handwriting flit onto her lips, then her ears. She could almost hear his voice again.
The thin, ribboned memories sweetly tie themselves into the hollow spaces. The one on the left side of her wrist, the little corner behind the eye socket.

And especially, the ones where she holds her breath, hoping her very heartbeat would be enough.

Enough rhyme & reason to stay here.
Please, stay.
This is for you.
Yes, you.
x
OWL
I am an owl.
I'm tawny.
Sometimes I live in the nook,
In the dark corner in the back of the barn.
Daylight silences me.
Bring on the darkness,
Nights I'm in flight.
You rarely see me,
You hear me when I speak.
Eerily,unsettling.
And full of intrigue.
(c) Livvi
A spot of nature for you
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