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 Oct 2014 Katie Biesiada
ck
Untitled
 Oct 2014 Katie Biesiada
ck
*******.

The end.
I've liked many, I've liked a lot.
Some I remember, and some I forgot.

But you, my friend, have always been around.
To lift up my spirits and make me feel proud.

I wish for you to feel the same.
To see the value and honor your name.

When your sorrows drown out the praise.
I wish you to remember the happiest of days.

Help will be enlisted; help is on the way.
We will hold your hand when the demons come to play.

Even if all seems lost like the Battle of Trost
We will carry the banner, on which, your name is embossed.

I pledge allegiance to you, my friend.
You have a long way to go-

This is not the end.
To the girl who can stretch further than I can.
how funny
he said
finally

inhaling in
the lights
against the night
mixing
with the grey
rolled
between

his forefinger
and thumb

i told her
that i loved her

and she believed me
i am waiting for you
and the cracks
between your fingers

at night
when i fall asleep
and dream
about anyone
but you

i feel your absence
and i feel my mind
moving to the space
you hold
over and over

i am waiting
for you
 Aug 2014 Katie Biesiada
amrutha
Every dusk, my roses die like the day
And still I say, " Honey, don't wilt away. "
sometimes
I love you

and sometimes
I am too afraid
to

does that mean
that I don't?
I think the scent of bug spray on my palms will now forever remind me of you and the late night (early morning) we spent sitting in your car, drawing awfully unskillful portraits on the back of each other’s hands in 
dim light and 3 a.m. stillness. (I wonder if you could tell that doodling on your skin was just an excuse to touch you.) I wanted so badly to let my fingers find yours 
as we laid back in our seats 
and peeked out the rolled down 
windows at the infinite stars scattered above us in the 
early August night sky. I told you I wouldn’t kiss you, 
because I know my heart and 
how relentlessly it would 
replay how your lips felt on mine, and how it would ache knowing
 you couldn’t be mine,
 so I let you kiss my cheek instead,
 and the half a moment that I felt 
your unshaven face brush mine in the middle of the street at five in the morning feels like a fake memory. When you looked at me, I wanted to hide, because I was too afraid to read what words might’ve been written in your eyes, but I felt so content listening to the 
deep tone of your voice 
mix with the obnoxiously loud crickets singing in the trees 
surrounding us. I could’ve sat there with you till the stars disappeared and the sun took their place, but you walked me back home, and you left in the dark, and now I’m sitting in my bed thinking about how the hours between 2 and 5 a.m. have never felt so full.
there are two paths
to take

when society
begins to destroy itself

I. stay and make it slightly better

or

II. run away.
as dusk rolled into night,
we watched a gray storm pour off the mesas
you spoke of life, death and what lies in between  
I smelled the rain and watched the lightning dance off
every rock, revealing some sacred secret alchemy in their stony souls  
a molten mix from ancient seas which yet today  
makes a bargain with light brighter than our simple, dying sun  
when your words faded into a sleepy slur, I walked
through the torrents of rain, not shivering
from the dreary drenched burden of the flesh
nor from the earthly winds, but from the vision
of my paw prints disappearing
before they were even made
(Inspired by a fierce lightning storm I had the privilege of seeing/feeling Saturday, July 19th, 2014, in the great American southwest--the only thing I have written in weeks)
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