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 Jul 2015 Lighthouse
Inked Papers
I hate the sea,
they remind me of you.
Like the waves, you keep coming back.
And leave again after washing upon the sand.


I am a gypsy wanderer.
The only home
I have ever known
Is my body.
And I destroy it.
Those like me
Can never have a home.
So I fill my lungs
With cigarette smoke,
My skin with scars
And my blood with *****.
As I see you
Laying next to me
As the ghost
That never seemed to fade
Away from the
Destroyed shine of you
In my ajar mind
I was spooked
Like a child
I ran away
From what you spoke of,
Words I thought
You would never produce
Out of your vocabulary
I remeber words
Tripping out of your mouth
And into the treadmill
Of my mind.
Still running
Cutting deep,

Packing my bags
Was the hardest part
Of living with you.
Not the scratch marks
Left on my cage
It was the idea
That no matter how many bags I packed
I couldnt slow down those words.

You see,
You are my past.
Standing as the brick wall
In my future.
No matter how black and white I am,
You, my past
Will find the murky gray spots
On the crack of my skull
And keep running on this treadmill

— The End —