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 Apr 2013 Kim
Lilith Meredith
All I wanted was a cigarette.
We weren't allowed to smoke.
He knew where to go.

We swept sidewalks together.
Raked sand together.
Talked about life together.

His window was across from mine.
I think he saw me changing once.
Maybe more than once.

He was getting dishonorably discharged.
I didn't think he was a good man.
I didn't think he was a bad one, either.

It had been two weeks since I landed in Monterey.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He knew where to go.

I bought the Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He carried them with him to his room.
I didn't think anything of it.

We raked sand together.
We ate lunch together.
We watched movies together.

We sat on a makeshift bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
We drank and smoked and laughed.
I taught him Farsi and he taught me Russian.

Russian for "hello" and "goodbye."
Russian for "This is allowed."
Russian for "This is not allowed."

I think he saw me changing once.
He tried to kiss me on the cheek.
I told him no, my boyfriend wouldn't like that very much.

We smoked some more.
We drank some more.
We laughed some more.

It was 2130.
I had to be in my room by 2200.
He said not to worry, I'd be back in time.

I insisted and tried to leave.
I fell to the ground.
He didn't help me up.

I only wanted a cigarette.
He kissed me on the mouth.
I did not kiss him back.

I was immobile.
Paralyzed.
Drugged?

He kissed me again.
And again.
And again.

I did not kiss him back.
I had a boyfriend.
All I wanted was to smoke and drink and laugh.

He grabbed me by the ankles.
Pulled me over the ditch behind the army barracks by the installation fence.
I could hear soldiers coming back to their rooms.

I was paralyzed.
I always thought I would fight.
Fend him off with car keys stuffed between my fingers.

I looked up at the tree branches above me, my watch said 2147.
That was the last time I prayed to God.
There were leaves in my hair and dirt on my arms.

There was something less than a man between my legs.
It looked at me with hate in its eyes.
We swept sidewalks together.

God kicked back and swigged a PBR
     while I was ***** behind the army barracks,
     over the ditch by the installation fence.

He helped me up.
I couldn't stand on my own.
How sweet.

I vomited by a tree.
I was disgusted with myself and him and God.
I wanted to drown in Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.

He walked me to my barracks building.
How sweet.
I made it to my room by 2200.

All the girls watched me stumble down the hallway.
I was so violently alone.
Taps wailed outside the window.

I left my hat by the bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
He brought it to me the next morning.
How sweet.
Part II in a series.
 Apr 2013 Kim
jdmaraccini
Deep asleep my heart stops beating
I see a chance to break away.
Looking down at myself not breathing,
I feel no sorrow if it ends today.
What’s the point in senseless silence,
in my silence can you hear me pray.
Love like magic is an illusion of science,
as I march into the dark decay.

Fear and darkness in the tears I bleed
as I drift into a permanent sleep.
Like a moth to the flame with burning wings
I fly to the valley of sorrow and grief.
I fall into the mouth of a broken tree
then land on the ledge of a snow-covered leaf.
I heard a voice bellow from below:

Where’s the justice in a land of liars,
a knife is plunged into the innocent soul.
A broken heart bleeds anger and fire
as the pendulum swings, the heart grows cold.


Why am I here this is a terrible mistake,
last thing I remember there was no pain,
I went to sleep but did I wake?
I do remember a porcelain plate,
a porcelain cup, I ate and drank,
was it dinner that night that sealed my fate?
Amatoxin tea with a ricin cake,
what have I done, what did I take?

Sorrow is a shadow over those who are grieving,
begging for a chance to put an end to the pain.
Writhing and thrashing from the venomous stings.
falling in darkness consumed by the flames.
As we suffocate should we fight to keep breathing,
or surrender to sorrow and the dark decay.
JDMaraccini
2013
 Mar 2013 Kim
Charles Bukowski
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
 Mar 2013 Kim
Megan Grace
I tried to
write
a poem about you
but instead
I scribbled a
big, orange-ink blob
and I figured
that made
just as much sense.
 Feb 2013 Kim
Chloe London
It's like laying in a bed of thorns, wrapped up in a blanket of insults and put downs that dig just as deep as those thorns would, feeling every pinch of the very tip of them lay themselves into you as you toss and turn, trying to escape the sharp and piercing life that you live in. The feeling of your stomach pulsating, echoes like a heartbeat through your battered veins as your devastating way of life leaks through into your dreams... Your nightmares.

It's like falling into a deep, dark hole, without a sense of hearing or being able to touch and feel things. Like losing your voice and you are shouting at the top of your lungs and no one can hear.

Frustration

Like you've been deafened by your own isolation. Like you can't feel anything around you but the stabbing sensation of pain, anger, loneliness and the bitter words that are thrown at your weak heart.

It's like being kicked and kicked and kicked until you're all the way down, all the way to the cold, hard ground. Your delicate and dried skin beaten and bruised, the imprints of the left memories of your torment...

Back to the start, back to the very beginning when you vaguely remember when you were actually happy. When you smiled. And when that smile rocked his world. And now you're nothing, nothing but a drowned rat lying dead on the bed of a gutter. Drinking only rainfall to prevent severe dehydration. The only excitement brought to you seems to be the sharp, rushed feeling you get when you pull out that same razor blade from your ripped pocket and draw that coppery smelling substance we call blood from your already shredded wrists. That razor blade, the only thing closest to a bestfriend, it's helped to get out all of your anger and helped you to feel the true pain of your wrongs and mistakes. The pain from the blade, managing to take over the thoughts and excruciating pain from the spine shivering cold paving stones, what seems like they are scraping of off your hip bones. That razor blade, slowly taking away all of the other possible pain that may be caused throughout the taunting night.

It's like you're dead, lifeless, like you don't even matter or exist at all...
Like a little girl in a world of violence, alone and scarred by society, full of what feels like you're drowning in a river of anxiety. 

*Its like theres just nothing left to fight for.
 Feb 2013 Kim
Edward
nothing
 Feb 2013 Kim
Edward
There is no reaction except to disagree
Loving  words,  wasted on useless ears.
Mind not comprehending, loving melodies
Dead space,

Nothing.

Words of encouragement cast aside
Insecurity races forward  and dominates
Cry inside, left alone to contemplate relationship.
a hint of love would satisfy emotions

Nothing

Sitting at dinner with nothing
Random useless conversation, filling voids
Carelessly spewing obscenities at behaviours
Seldom stopping to understand

Nothing

I love you a ton, maybe two, noooo maybe three
or maybe not at all, No reaction
Said to loud , others may hear, whisper sweet nothings
to empty space. mind strays to other possibilities

Nothing

Personalities clash, opinions are pointless
Care or dare to care, who's winning
Walk away slouched shoulders, broken inside
No more feelings, numbness

Nothing.

Rage at the  nothing
Find answers as to why.
But, there is anger at the nothing
There must be something.
Relationships are hard but soft at the right times.
 Feb 2013 Kim
jeffrey conyers
Oh, they notice.
Yes, we do.
It just for ethical reason of manners.
We must not admit to the truth.

Oh, we notice the hips, the lips, the walk.
Yeah, men's notice this all about you.

Even with their spouse.
And they about to break their necks not to look.
Believe me.
Men's notice you.

The debate between them.
Is long as they don't touch.
Many feels it's not a big deal.
But on the other hand.
You'll hear the religious segments talking about lusting after them.
When in reality, it's them hiding in pretense.

Men's notice.
Whether within church.
Whether at work.
Men's notice.

Whether in the park.
Or relaxing in the pool.
Men's notice.
And believe me.
Women knows, who's looking too?

To some, it's a compliment.
To others, it's a hinderance.
But either way men's notice.

They always do.
Except, some like to play the blind man game.
As, if they don't see a single thing.

We notice, the eyes, the hands, the skin.
Some even go beyond respect to notice your friends.

Where do this noticing begins to end?
 Feb 2013 Kim
SamBee
It is just not a good day for heavy thoughts and sweaty socks
Because I am all alone -
Without my heart of stone
I will be chasing sadness all day long;
Maybe turn it into a song,
A dirge
A complaint of woeful hate.

And the words will still sound wrong.

And I will perch up here
On my post of hollow wood;
Dribble words from my lips.
I will poke holes in your ears;
Puppet your pivoting hips.

I will drench myself in covers of comatose catastrophes
That seem statistically highly impossible to occur,  
Yet my mind loves to weep so much.

He will imagine pain just to bring me to life.

And this is all that I have got,
This song,
These shots,
And not even those because taps are dry,
Bottles empty,
Fizzes flat,
Broken glass

Open heart,
             will you ever stop bleeding?
Open wounds, pussing foamy forgotten youth.

And I could have spent all this time
Practicing how to smile,
But my mouth was too busy talking about my
Imaginary sadness.
 Feb 2013 Kim
Uhh Who
Sleeplessness
 Feb 2013 Kim
Uhh Who
Sleeplessness
Brought to you by sparkling espresso in a can
I have underestimated you yet again, oh humble coffee bean
But back to work
Eight tabs open, going back and forth
It's nothing short of a miracle if any given task is given more than a minute of attention at a time
Muscle spasms, trembling, fascinating
Overwhelming urge to mindlessly flex the muscles I don't have
Fake machissimo brought about by exhauation?
Or the exhileration of having to complete 8 projects in a day
While simultaneously trying to grasp a breaking down of my mind which hasn't happened since...forever
Hmm
These are the prime conditions to breed a taxing marathon of productivity
Or a chain of costly impulsive decisions to perpetuate procrastination.
Signs that someone is going crazy range from ****** to inability to stick to a single topic to excessive use of run on sentences
"How meta, acknowledging your insanity deconstructs the very notion of it if you normalize it within yourself and just look as everyone else as crazy! Ha.ha."
That made no sense, i don't think.
I like using big words to make myself sound smart you can make anyone believe anything if you use big words also it scares those
Hippopotomonstroesquipedaliophobixlcs
Grumble grumble
Good night/morning/whatever
12/12/12
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