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Lm Bernal Oct 2014
I can't seem to figure out how to
Anything that's is nothing well beyond most
I pant and sieve you winner spot through
Everything has this something spelt we yawn chose
Decide to make sense of the feelings that aren't solely emotional
Play victim place blame I hope everyone sees the tear reflect
Deep writhe create cents ****** and peeling at harm closely irrational
Days well spent laced claims I wrote every none these fear affects
But no more time for stupid plain and simple when the standards you set
Are above what you will ever expect
And but stop no wrong is what I get
Its routine after six days I mirror what shines
So full pastel and haze I hear her gut...spine
I've got saint nicks naughty list with a compendium of my flaws
But there can't be a haughty miss sin duh explain to them blood soaked paws

But here's where things take a twist like
Undear fair painstaked make lists finite
I'll save my breath with your three flaws and not try to reconstruct your paper walls
And then again
And then again
And then again
There we went again
Here we go again
The gloves are...not all the way on just like this love for you its finger nail deep beneath the skin I let you win as you insist that my love don't persist and that all I consist is of tryst and false bliss in my own mess but no no no my only miss I think I should finally take a hit squeeze and missdirect as you say I'm a control freak but to lazy to do anytimg palms cut string free so you win soak in the belief you are my hip o' critical to face and speak the worst...I meant words that need to be heard not now but first hide behind wrist in glass chains coated in tares deep within your hair warehouse of wearmse...and dig me into your earth's dirt and hurt and flirt and blurt to the berm about my error report and burst the urns of metamettled self respect and discontent with loves intent to forgive and pretense to pretend to fore get self right us depend, anci of persons all d. Out the door and through the neighbors hoody tighten the string to the is all cough n gusts of self pit e turn it team work out the probable it tee it off down the disk course of Mize pinnacle ought tomb ashes word-of cheek to sheet teeth to concrete but feelings abstracts don't Co interreaction for your lustrousity that pumps ***** like monuments of the dead and the villian played out to dyer for the story must always end so I contend bed time eternal lines destroy and maim-tain positive loss cause and affectional misdewreck it all forlorn the cause breath take a pause and paste the wasted hate pros claim mist true tha foul knitting grisly tails of fend ding in finite leadin breed of my sad is ticks fuel done relation to ships will captained with jacked spare old detales a resting develop mind with the plank tons under her toe like dancers on a soul


Happily ever
Wearms is a mixture of wares wear like erode and worms or wyverns or wyrms


And to place it you can optionally add where and we're and were


Dyer is mix of pyre dire dry fry dye die
  Oct 2014 Lm Bernal
Alli Westerhoff
X
Let's talk about the letter x.
It's one of the weirdest letters we have in the English alphabet. It's a prized letter in the game of scrabble. It's a stumper for some kindergarteners who need to know that one word that starts with it to move up a grade. It's a symbol for a spot. Sometimes it's treasure, sometimes it's a target. Sometimes, it's a word. Sometimes it's a rating of a thrill or a cheap way to get off alone with some tissues. Sometimes it makes things extra small, and sometimes it makes them extra large. Or sometimes it's a way to describe someone.
Ex.
Like an ax to the wood we severed into thousand of splinters. I never thought I'd call you by that letter. I had a different future in mind. One with yellow green and white. One with your forehead pressed against mine as I pushed out creation. One with a chalk board wall full of poetry, lyrics, and sketches of light houses with suns rising in the background.
Now all I see is a big red x over all those dreams.
My treasure map is torn and burned and I can only see the target, but will never find the way to your heart again. My scrabble board is missing letters, and as I search for a way to forget them I keep putting down the letters to your name. I can't move on, like a child stuck behind their innocence and unable to comprehend what is next. I have to only imagine our bodies touching like those two thin lines on a paper. Intersecting like a comet to the atmosphere, colliding but burning up with terrible destruction.
My poetry doesn't have rhythm, and the rhyme has gone awry. All I keep seeing are ******* x's over every line I write. Because none of them put me and you and love together again.
The letter x is so strange. It's a weird thing we chose it to be a way to describe the end of something. One line going one way, the other a different way. But somewhere they meet and for the brief encounter there is hope that the lines will curve into love. But the lines have to move on, and so do we.
Lm Bernal Oct 2014
We've tried this not so merry go round on this what you see-saw
Yet at the pique you grasp my hand and laugh as I fall
In broken bones humpty dumpty chuckles at my sights
Pants of magma you set the pace and read me my rights
A criminal of love a parolee of despair king of isolates
Turn back to a time when time couldn't be turned its you I hate
Lm Bernal Oct 2014
Had it been because I hadn't cleaned my tracks?
Had it been because when I cast light I attacked?
But now I see the chaos in the world, I let the king go to that dark place,
Into darkness we were hurled, and the only sadistic face,
It was a place only after sunset that the nymph had witnessed alone but me and my fictional love stayed to long tonight,
A waste of land and bitter resents but it was fitnessed as home for the ones murdered in blood and paved with demise, the millions destroyed emerged as a civilization on its verge but the king and servant saw this as no heavent we had conquered life and the next as well, we took the land and gave them hell, and I was the devil at the end of the blade and before I woke I heard my king returned as a child say..... I'm looking for my grandpa arturo insidious
Just a dreams

— The End —