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  May 2016 kaylene- mary
JR Potts
Dave was the kind of guy to always talk about leaving; we have all known a guy like Dave and we have always wished he would go, not because we didn’t want him around but because we knew he was one of the few who could go. Sometimes he would work up the courage and leave this suburban drive by; he even spent a few months out west, Portland or something. He never mentioned it much, the trip didn’t last long, more like an extended vacation before he was back working the same job, drinking at the same bar and kissing the same woman, well not the same exact woman but she was always close enough to the previous one, the difference seemed insignificant to us. I'd look at him at the end of that bar, sipping his beer as he wore the face of a man who was often late for work because he lost his keys. He found them once before between the cushions of the couch, so now every time he misplaced them, he would check their first and check again six more times. Always looking for what he needed in the same place he found it once.
kaylene- mary Apr 2016
I have traced the war torn lips of death
But never the relief of her graceful intimacy
She found me in a bed made up of morphine
With a stomach still regurgitating loss
Her undertone was pitiful and the octave never changed
But she was full of a warm embrace
By the skin of my teeth, I have touched her only on days that consist of threes
The hour of the unholy
The hour that god sleeps
And he plays my preys on repeat
But humanity still hides at the thought of my farewells
They reside between their bones and mourn their probable loss
They hold no flowers of remorse nor confine
But rather weep for their own, still and barely shifting
Leaving me to soak in fears and fright
They hold their lives in such decay, survival fit
And disregard my uncertain departure
In the face of death, many run home to hide beneath their beds
To mourn the loss of a soul not yet left
They fear the loss of their own in simulation
And will not give up preys for reconciliation
Leaving me to throb, to pulse and bleed dry in a bed made of white
kaylene- mary Apr 2016
For all the self destructive souls
That think they'll never be themselves again
I understand that self harm
Is really just self defence
kaylene- mary Mar 2016
I have run in fear of hierarchy and seudo embrace - to lay hands upon embroidered skin,
skin so arbitrarily tainted that it smells of innocent seas and eloquent loss.
I discovered ignorantly hand stitched protest that formed naivety in effortless waves.
An effort so void of physical touch and second sight,
that it resembles a vastness that once drowned the lesser version of my inhabitants.

I climbed mountains in length to hang upon a crucifix made of passion and scrutiny,
a comfort known by none but a malicious compliance requested by authority,
only to regenerate the secrecy of silence.
kaylene- mary Mar 2016
I've come to the intersection of
false law and steal bolt spines
My blood keeps pumping kerosene
and my lungs can hardly stutter
but they still beg me to breathe
No one ever tells you when it's
a good time to break and the last
time I tried to swallow it was a
handful of rispodol and my brother's
fingers down my throat
I woke up in January with a father
and the seams to my soul
But now I have neither and they
ask me to be still
I could count the apologies I
ever got from both on one hand
and none were from this man
They tell me to write because it
gives voice to my speech but I
found the library of my mind in
ashes when I asked for a plea
And I don't know if maybe she just
gave up on me or us both
But I've left laders outside my
window for all the hands that couldn't
hold me and all the lips that never
mind to tell me why
Does one bleed at the knees for a
shoulder to sleep or do I blister my feet?
kaylene- mary Mar 2016
I desire to perish,
yet I ask for health
I love another -
and thus I hate myself
kaylene- mary Mar 2016
He said it in blood rituals, in blasphemy
All soul and no body and arson as a hobby
He brought sugar cubes and moonshine - begged to lay with me just one last time
Seven months in counting since he made me die that night
Seven months in counting and now he wants to do it right
He was shaking on my door step, smelt of shame and desperation
He promised to be gentle
He won't yell and fists won't fly
He just kept saying "forever"
*"Forever baby, forever, just let me hold you for the night"
It's taken him seven months to see that I would have died for him. I died for him, and now he wants to die for me. Last night was the first time he said "I love you" and I believed it.
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