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Jurtin Albine Feb 2018
I really did like you…

As far as human interactions go.

Beyond the jagged edges of
metallic creations,
or the infinite circuitry
passing through information’s…

Like each other passing through one another.

Take a hood off,
waste a smile.

Cold ice glare,
warm caring stare.

Climb a case,
change your ways
to get out of another's
personal space.

Be yourself,
pretend to be someone else.

Have your day,
or put aside.

Love me blindly,
or blind my mind.

Kiss me here,
or have me never.

Pour the rain,
or clog the drain.

You were a victim too,
but they’re still going to charge you…

Very few get away.

Thinking about a society;

One in all or too many in a singular.

Put in place,
undeserved fate.

Stealing from another me...

Being something
I don’t want to be.

It doesn’t make it any better…

On the contrary,
it only makes it hurt more after.

Walk on by…

One of these times
the machine will stall
and it will be interchanged for
something that will not fail to fall.

Cutting me down to one knee,
or a pollution too powerful to last…

This one last time
I’ll watch her pass.
Jurtin Albine Feb 2018
One look away…

Wasn’t given.

It’s easy when it’s clear.

It’s easier when it’s not.

To walk away…

Regrets for a death bed.

Put a bullet in my head
so I can skip the bit.

Saying goodbye
thinking

I don’t want to die…

Well here’s here
and we’re all going over there...

Prove a point
that’s almost as old as time.

I think she came first,
but I can’t beat this out of my mind.

Something in the way she focuses her lens,
or captures with her eye.

Im beyond oblivion…

The last chance was spent thinking
of who she could capture next...
(What a catch)

And I’m the past tense.
Jurtin Albine Feb 2018
It would be a great big lie
to tell you that,

‘I don’t think about
what it would be like
to be with you…

To lie with you…

To feel your hair against my face
and hear your breath compete
against my heartbeat.’

It would be untrue
if I didn’t tell you,

‘I don’t want to go out
it would only diminish my interest
through all the distractions...

Disturbing my focus...

Bright lights and loud sounds;
answering all the questions of others
cycling around.’

I would have to return to the spot
where we once were…

Then I could begin to truly re-spur
the feeling of when we were just laying
and wish again…

‘...That nothing would ever change
that moment where...


                 you and I…

                
                                  ...lie in place.’
Jurtin Albine Feb 2018
...Doesn't matter where I place my point
when there was nothing there?
I did it anyway.

An outcome so simple to say,
they’ll call me a fool
for seeing this action through.

We are the unlucky ones,
the ones in tune to care.

I’m one world away from turning this dimension around
and I just might do it…

I’m one twisted laugh away from a disfigured joke
to being referred to as that demented bloke.


After all is said,
thought mattered not.

I’m a prisoner in someone else’s mind
and I’m looking for someone who’s blind…

...for someone who can’t see my insides.

The person who best suits me
turns out to be
the most incompatible.

The curse of birth
carries my blood
along with me.

I’d bleed black if the prism ever broke.

I think you know,
but it doesn’t show.

My truth is a little less then a window.

I spin my thoughts around all matters
and feel untrue feelings
just to judge what it all means.

I choose to open or close
until it breaks in and takes all it can
and then I’m left angry and afraid.

I shatter myself and a disfigured creature lurks out…

I regain control by picking up the shiniest pieces
as I try to put myself back together...

Into something respectable...

Into something better...
Jurtin Albine Feb 2018
And I will hate myself
because of last night’s yurinings.
I know it’s not good for my health...

But I can’t stop craving
carving a path
that’s shelved.

I go to work disheveled
and in need of help,
but I can’t stop hurting.

Is it wrong of me to hate you?
Because I don’t.
Although I wish I could...
Jurtin Albine Feb 2018
What does it matter how old?

Don’t you know
that you’ve plateaued?

What are you waiting for
when all your dates are already told…

It’s over before it begins;
you’re dead before you’re born.

Now I'll spend the day
trying to remember all the things
I’ve said…

All the things
I’m going to say…

It matters not.

Both ways are dreaming.

Everything is so unreal…

Reality is screaming at me.

Can you believe it?

I’ve done nothing wrong,
but that’s where it lies.

The wrong I’ve done
is being alive.
  Feb 2018 Jurtin Albine
Iska
'Why is it so painful to grow?'

A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.

The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.

A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.

Yet still... It grows.

A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.

Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.

Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.

And still.. it grows.

The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.

The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.

And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.

The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.

Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.

Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.

And still.. it grows.

Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.

Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.

They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.

You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.

And now... I can't grow.

So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.

And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.

Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.

And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
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