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everybody is ******
in the head except for me.
I'm clinging to hope
like I'm clinging
to hospital bed sheets.
Scared. frustrated. Tired.

Counting the naps,
beautiful demonstrations
of death.

Counting the kisses
pouring off your lips
like ballots on election day.
we still rise to the same sun
we still sleep under the same moon
we still read the same words
we still hum the same tunes
we still feel the same joy
we still feel the same blues
we still play the same songs
we still know this to be true:

we still forget to let go
but we still manage to say i love you.
Why did I send you home?*

I'd rather be
wandering your body.

But instead
I'm wandering the internet.
The best poems
are never shared.
They are written
on the insides of our eyelids
and each one reads
'You are beautiful.'
I cannot speak your poem.
I am still learning to pronounce my own.
The language of the God
who penned the phrase
is foreign to my wandering tongue.
But I read it.
Over and over again while I sleep,
stumbling over the words,
making mince of all His poetry.
 Oct 2012 Kim Jong Il
James Ellis
No more false declarations,
This "wisdom" I possess,
No! In fact, I'm much less,
What I say is unimportant,
Work was a contradiction,
Supporting my addiction
And in this moment,
I really need guidance,
So I'm going to try this...
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