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Leal Knowone Mar 3
I sit alone in my room staring at the ceiling, With my palms pressed to my face questioning existence.
Whiskey bottle in my right hand, and some form of elicit substances in my left.
Trying to escape reality.
I sit and contemplate what the **** is left?
My brain starts to wonder through vivid landscapes, euphoric realms, and into desolate wastelands.
A waste array of terrane.
I perambulate these lands.
I try to reminisce of good times.

My mind stops!
Everything goes blank.
I see a dot afar off, growing every split second.
It envelopes all ,then the colors just start to come in focus.
I look upon myself sitting at A restaurant table.
My first thought is, this is where my imagination takes me?
I feel like  my hands are unfathomably clammy, as cold as the  aliment placed before me, it seems that I have forgotten.
There would seem to be a nervousness I can not shake.

Instantaneously I am struck with A strange feeling, and I know exactly where & when I am.
A tear runs down my faces as I ask myself why did I bring myself here ? Such joy and splendor in this memory, but all it is is a memory .
I give in and embrace it.
I know exactly where & when I am.

I am So nervous her beauty is the only thing keeping me calm, like a bottle to a baby I am mesmerized, and all other aspects of life fade.
I can almost feel the breeze sailing throw the air like ships at sea.
I still have to let her beauty sink in., and let my imagination take hold.
I can  feel the breeze sailing throw the air like ships at sea
The air is ripe with life and decay.
So many scents to behold.
A fresh ocean breeze, lilac from homes near by,  fish washed ashore, all scents I take in.
A combinations of smells that would most difficult for one to forget.
I will remember that night until my last day, and  after.
That was the night I found her love.
A love I could not seem to hang on to.
That is why I sit in this room alone, hands holding my face
little petty and largely proper for the occasion.
I must process. my heart and mind or locked in a extended battle. Locked into a special time, a perfect evening.
I see her beauty,the dinner, the docks, that historic night.
I smell the  breeze.
The memory is enchanting me. How did I get so lost in my thoughts?
It would seem the reminiscence could prove unexpectedly dangerous.
My thoughts, my emotions,**** how they can change.
Oh how things can change, Like A noble intentions clouded by ****.
A contagious **** is thick in the air.Lingering soaking into your being. even the bottles and beast that washed ashore were all beautiful. I could see the beauty in all things that night. until the ugliness escaped from with in.
The day dream has ceased, and I long for the night so I may dream again.
I sit her alone in my room
Leal Knowone Mar 3
Meeting the foul faced fiend & foe we call death.
Lurking about looking for souls, a collector in the truest sense.
Mortals can be persistent,pondering away subsistence.
From death breaths life, a rotting coexistence.

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

Gandering at the reaper we can  see life, and reflect
We may see many worlds, life in the blink of an eye, right before our death.

Try not to inject your morals for the minds you infect.
Is there ever really a time when there's absolutely nothing left?
In the world of your mind you must be the architect.
the worlds crumbling down. Your mind is yours to *****

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass a stones throw. You are Building up a rebels soul.

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

Nothing but bones. Such a gorgeous array. The splendor of existence.The amusement of resistance, and the foul faced fiend we call death.
Looking for souls. Morality they say.....
Mortals can be persistent.
pondering away subsistence.

Gandering at death we see life and reflect
Try not to inject your morals, minds you infect.
Is there ever a time when there's nothing left?
In the world of your mind, be the architect.

The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass, stones throw. Building up a rebels soul.
Leal Knowone Mar 3
The things she says in her sorrow stretch on till morrow.
Emotions bend, bow, and break, shaking her to the core.
She says love is lost, but she loves everyday.
She says love is an elusory thing, but she long to grasp it, and hold it close, close to her heart she feels is blackened with decay, yet it pump blood through her beautiful veins.
Yes in the poem I wanted to use elusory not illusory in this poem
Leal Knowone May 2018
Leal Knowone Mar 2018
If the end of the fight is what you are fighting for, maybe the fighting will never stop.
Leal Knowone Sep 2017
Tears flow down her face.
Agony from recent past, she clings to like a drowning body floating at sea.
Useless debris.
There's a taste of  duality in all things.
A sorrow reality can bring.  
Though this is a mere moment in time it seems like it is everything. How does one gauge pain if it is something we hope not to be remembering?

She lets herself became jaded, a heart slowly turning to stone. Heading down a path she lets herself believe she knows.
She lets herself believe she knows all there is to know.
If she takes a wrong turn there could be more suffering, or more joy then she would have otherwise know.
Who really knows which way to go?
Leal Knowone Sep 2017
If you hold the gun to your head, and pull the trigger, who knows if your promise will subside when you die, or will a new pain begin?  
You think they will always remember you, but that will only be until the memory ends, maybe a few days, until the next tragedy.
Who are you to take the attention away from importance at hand, with the pain and the sorrow of our depleting green land?
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