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the voices of the sea
the whisper of the symphony
are calling out your name
and you just turn your head in shame

your hopeless hands are tied
and everything you love has died
you've thrown away your pride
and giving up now, means you never tried

you're still pulling out the arrows
of your former atrophies and perils
fulfilling this discordance
with your future purpose and importance
pulling out the arrows.
pulling out the arrows.
pulling out the arrows.

Reaching for the Surface
but you're on the ocean floor.
Praying for a Purpose,
hoping for an open door.
Scratching at the Surface,
but it's harder than it was before.
But what's the Purpose?
what are you praying for?

and you say
God, please don't let me die.
but you're
Reaching for an Empty Sky.

No one else is there
to hold you're hand and say they care
No one else will come
so give it up, you're on your own.

the forces of the sea
have trapped you in this tragedy
your belief in all their lies
has done no good, open your eyes

see the world as it is
your existence within this nothingness
as worthless as the sea
another useless commodity

you're still bracing for the arrows
of your distant atrophies and perils
fulfilling this whole prophecy
by decoding all their sophistry
bracing for the arrows
bracing for the arrows
bracing for the arrows

Reaching for the Surface
but you're on the ocean floor.
Praying for a Purpose,
hoping for an open door.
Scratching at the Surface,
but it's harder than it was before.
But what's the Purpose?
what are you praying for?

and you say
God, please don't let me die.
but you're
Reaching for an Empty Sky.
 Jul 2013 jude rigor
hkr
i kissed her behind the couch so
she ****** the first guy she found
to try and fix it

didn't she know
i was drunk
i thought she was, too.
 Jul 2013 jude rigor
hkr
lbr
 Jul 2013 jude rigor
hkr
lbr
i write about wanting to
see you
talk to you
be with you

but in actuality
if i ever had the chance
i'd run in the opposite direction

because you'd be
all too
real.
and i am a coward.
 Jul 2013 jude rigor
Glayz Welch
Boys are the best
Sometimes the worst
Everyone says they need 'em,  but really they don't
Some really need them, like me
To keep me safe and tell me they love me
Tell me I'm pretty
And keep me in high spirits
Boys are the best
No they're the worst...
They're decent
Speak under your breath
As though talking to yourself,
But rest your head on my shoulder.

That way, I can hear you.
And you have me.
Just rest your head upon my shoulder.

I will always be here.
I will always listen
To the words spoken ever so quietly.
 Jul 2013 jude rigor
Chris
I swear things will get better.
Even skinned knees and scraped palms
take some time to heal.
And you are chiseled marble,
sculpted into something lovely.
Stronger than diamonds,
and more beautiful too.
Your eyes reflect hardened obsidian,
birthed from flowing fire itself.
You might still be in pieces,
but you will be rebuilt.
And I will help.
So please, let me handle your scars.
I want to know them inside and out.
I promise I’ll be gentle, I know how tender they can be.
I am well trained in unsettled regrets after midnight,
and fluent in the language of comforting silence.
I know each jagged ridge holds so much you’ve lost
or tried to gain.
I know how much they mean to you.
I promise I’ll be gentle.
for anyone that has ever struggled with self harm
No wind!

(Only the stale images)
--

The policeman
...
Guarding the bankers' stolen wealth
----

The children cannot breathe
-----

-----

Mothers and fathers!

One mistake away from

Going to jail
----

No wind!

HELL
..

Writing love poems with Pain
----
DIE!

DIE!
I say

We shall be reborn together or not at all

DO NOT LISTEN TO WHAT THEY SAY!
--
We shall be reborn together and be free
A backwards obsession.
A closed confession.
Checking the scale too often.
Smirking at the pounds,
I've somehow managed to shed.
Welcoming the protrusion of bone,
Disregarding the tautness of skin.
Compliments stupidly fuel my craze,
But lack thereof builds motivation the same.
Ill reassure you it’s fine,
If you show any concern.
But still watch old clothes grow
drop around my tender ankles
reassuring myself, your opinions don’t exit.
 Jul 2013 jude rigor
Sarina
Think of how much world is wasted on
bad eyes - by blindness, or ones that merely do not want to see.
The next thing you know you cannot miss a sunrise
and french kiss both moon and stars
goodnight, your head will hug its fallen hair on the pillowcase,
strands telling stories of when you were not conscious. I
realize you will visit jewelry stores and
watch how gemstones are faceted. You will imagine the galaxy
within an amethyst, publish novels on their bouquets
of cigarettes, worry about how pretty things can **** themselves too.
Everything is a story: you ask to see my cellulite,
you tell me how it got there, how my skin stretched to make
room for every place we shall go
including statelines that do something similar. We stretch apart
and still we are okay. We think about how the same
dawn reaches us, I can almost see your pupils dilate when the sky
dances - I watch but you hope to learn the ballet.
Someone is taking a photograph right now that they can look
at later, ours never came out the way I wanted them to
or perhaps the memories just go by another name.
I learned about homophones when I hurt you
by trying to sound beautiful. It is so much easier when we can see
morning peeling open our feelings, easier when you're here.
interwoven sunlight
through back streets
over grown ivy curling on stone
growing in grey concrete
someone's footsteps linger
where the millions have frayed;
icy hearts melting
with warm summer rays
a woman with skin mottled and pink
curls in a corner of the busy city scene
said she lost her existence to the devil's drug
and now she's just a shell of what she once was.
decomposing back into earth, into the gravel
the pavement slick with oil, copper filled taste.
and i lounge upon a quilted meadow
laying waste
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