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 Sep 2014 kenye
Beaux
I felt the cold steel graze my lips.

Thrusting it deeper down my throat.

It was the closest thing to a **** that's every been near my mouth.

Bang bang, Baby.
 Sep 2014 kenye
RyanMJenkins
Misfire
 Sep 2014 kenye
RyanMJenkins
Disconnected, dimented
In a dimension
With no mirror to be reflective.
Thinking ourselves outside of the collective
Using abusive excuses as justification for the sedative

Flick of the stick, and the ash scatters
Serving pesticide on a ***** platter
In this scene it's easy to see we don't matter -
Never relinquished from the mind's ghastly chatter.
Just a solitary paint splatter,
In a basement of a home that holds no life
Blended into everything unless otherwise stricken by sunlight.
Rocks rain on our soft spot
Mental blocks stain those I wished would "forget me not"
Almost immobile, breathing in disease, watching the body rot, wash me clean

It's hard to stop
When the pain is adorable.
Ingested my finances,
I was too broke to afford your whole.
Your happiness I stole,
but I swear I don't have it.
My frown is right-side-up until I've found a way to mask it.

Gonna grasp this vessel by the foundation and collapse it,
with a relapse hit, staring at the flame as it burns the fabric.
Waiting for magic in a sea full of plastic -
Setting the stage on fire,
only to create something - *tragic
words burn, flames hurt

smile
 Sep 2014 kenye
Wanderer
Surface relationships.
Virtual hello's.
Days without hearing a voice other than those in your head.

I do not understand how we as a species are going to survive with such space between us.

Our current society may view us as being more connected than ever.

*I feel us drifting further and further apart
Any body care to talk? I'm always down for a phone call :) 941-718-5666
One, who makes One's problems
reflections of the External,
opts that One's Reality
shall manifest as One's Hell.

One, who realizes One's problems
root most often in One's Self,
opts that One's Reality
shall manifest as One's Nirvana.
 Sep 2014 kenye
Holly Salvatore
You see sod busted up by a long, sepia-toned farmer. He is pushing a plow that belongs in a museum of the prairie. You feel as if this is happening to you. To your insides, I mean. You feel a squirming pancreas, and a dancing spleen. You feel a change coming and you are happy about feeling, about movement, agriculture. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a window and realize that you have grown to be 10 feet tall. You are looking down on the corn; at eye-level with the barn. You imagine  your father, the farmer, would be very proud of the tree you have become, and the windbreak you afford his fields.
So during the depression with the dust bowl and black blizzards a huge threat to agriculture in America, FDR proposed this idea for the "Shelterbelt." Basically he wanted to plant trees all along the prairie in long windbreaks to protect farms. He never got all the funding he wanted for it, but some trees were planted anyway. It just ended up being on a much smaller scale than he had proposed. By the time it was done the drought was nearing its end and WWII was on the horizon, and the whole thing has been largely forgotten about.
 Sep 2014 kenye
Pen Lux
forever better
alone with production
forever better
attending to poetic tendencies

the skies cry as I write
smoke so thick that it puts fog in the corner
heavy winds and planes rushing overhead
lightning with no trace of thunder
the wind rumbles louder
sequencing with my stomach
as I ache for inspiration in every toxic breath
that follows after the fire spreads

I smoke with the earth
as my lungs bleed
together with my heart
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