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They float down the river together, he speaks in whispers and uses a soft touch as to not set the bird in flight. He feared her freedom and her wild mind.

He wrapped her around his ankles creating a weight of which you cannot forget. Soldered together, bent, fragile but unbroken. The fall approaches, rushing down into a bubble, the bird tries to flee but he's quicker.

He pushes her down first, they fell together.
He held her while she tried to pry herself from him, winding and screaming while his grip tightened on her waist.
They plummet faster than any bird should, she could take off, stay high, never looking back,  but he won't let go.

They plunge deep in a swirl, whirling together. She reaches for the surface but he holds her down, drowning her with his own hands.
She begins to tire and is unable to fight her wings wither away and she begins to breath.

Engulfed, her lungs fill with a new oxygen, her body begins to sway with the waves. Her skin cools and she is able to see.
It is when her body stops resisting that he sits beside her. She holds him  with her new love. She has never fallen only flown, never known depth only the sky.

The sea is new to the bird but the fish is glad to find her home.
I spent my boyhood avoiding
      the disgrace of my differences.
Creating alternate empires that
      I ruled with stoic passion.
I gave out negative vibrations, as a boy,
      to control the level of association.
Built walls and lived within them,
       perfectly encased in sarcastic wisdom.
Does not take too long to understand
       that being yourself is not suggested.
Eager advocates educate the boy that his
      differences must be suppressed.
Be the same. Be the same. Be the same.
      Moulded and conformed, unaware
of the boyhood desiring to think for self.
       I spent my boyhood reading books
that opened libraries of imagination.
      Absorbing the solitary creations
of so many magnificent lives. They presented
      me with echoes of alternatives.
I never have understood the slicked back
      membrane of uncentred filters.
Solitary self-confinement made so
       much more tickled sense to me.
I passed out scented cigars of me
       to ear-drums inclined to not listen.
They agreed to, and supported,
       the numbness of not thinking.
Letting the self-declared prophets
       dictate how we must believe.
I spent my boyhood being the boy
      that did not fit the paper model.
Set it on fire. Set it on fire. Let the
       message always be that a man
must indicate his own set of standards.
It is for the broken hearted ones that we should seek
for they are the ones whos need is to feel love
and it is for the ones whos soul aches that we should befriend
for they are in need of comfort, giving a safe place to land
and for those that are crushed in spirit we should lift up
for their spirit is bruised and very often lost to them
they are the ones we should find
the weary souls
from among ourselves
our time in this cosmos is fleeting
and what better way to remain forever
than to love


P. Every word is yours x
I guess a little bit like a prayer. But not really maybe.. I don't know..
But I just wanted to write some words of comfort for my friend.
your words
are written like ribbons,
tied in a bow
laced with scarlet and garnered in stone
you place your gold-plated locket on the table
to leave your writing for another day
now you go outside to outshine the sun
despite your scars and tears and all the things that you've done
you make the moon jealous, and every star too
god, i wish i was beautiful like you
it feels unfair when I see people who have gone through the same things as me and deal with the same disorders.. but they're fairies, they have wings and magic and bright colors that people are drawn to. They create beautiful things. They ARE beautiful things. And I'm made of hurricane-speed winds and shattered glass and I am so very alone.
Sometimes I'll go for walks
long walks
down long roads.

Sometimes I'll have a nap
not a long nap
and just dream.

Sometimes I'll read a book.
a big book
one that takes me weeks.

Sometimes I'll phone a friend
a close friend
one I left behind.

And other times I'll just sit and think
for hours
about you.

— The End —