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It seems that I have reached an age,
where death follows me, that
all consuming shadow wreaking havoc
to those I love - why? I ask in vain,
knowing that no answer lies behind
the thickening morbid fog of
tomorrow. He does not exist, and ****
all of you who dares say he does,
that vile creature spitting blood
onto ashen faces then expecting
my knees to bend in fear - I can't
take this anymore.
My day had been laced with comfort and love
which was strange for someone like me
but I thought I would end it in the same manner.

Smoke explored our lungs
and furled around the Christmas lights.
My lids laid heavy against my eyes
as I tilted my head back and inhaled the garage
the lights
the sounds
the people.

"Oh ****."
In an instant my world shattered
as the door opened
and he walked in behind someone
and our eyes met
and I could feel my heart gasping
and my body tremble
and my hands lose feeling
so I stood up to leave.

As my friend drove I shrunk into the seat
more silent
and less visible
than a breeze.
Tears crawled down my neck
but I didn't care
I needed to get as far away as I could
before thoughts of him began to inch up my spine
and constrict my head
like they usually do
but I think it was too late.

We pulled into the parking lot
and as my friend got out I refused to move
and when he left
so did my control.
I snapped and slid down the seat
and deeply burned.

It came to a point where I couldn't cry
so I leaned against the door
as my breath creeped along the window.

I wish he hated me.
I wish he resented me
and stayed so far
even memories of him would seem impossible.

I wish I hated him
hated how he made me look like a fool.
I wish my brain vomited his existence
and any thought of him
I would melt and pour down the drain.
last night was ****.
Hear that sweet symphony of
birdsong fall over the mountains,
next to the turquoise sea and let
the sand sleep between the toes whose
neighbours have travelled far in
recent times, along iron and air with
no destination but only searching
for some tangible peace, next to
a fiery headed woman who you
pretend to know, only in an effort
to pretend to be known.
Longing lingers in the heart
Of the host that's torn apart
Desire drives him to loves cliff
He wants to fall but is scared stiff
He is too late, stopped in his tracks
She is gone and can’t turn back
And so he fights against the fall
But there's no grip upon the wall
The ground crumbles beneath his feet
His guarded heart sees defeat
"I love you." I repeated to myself in the dark and dreary room.
"I love you. I love you. I love you." as if it would brighten up the gloom.
"I love you." I shouted to twinkling and abundant stars. "I love you." I yelled to the red planet Mars.
"I love you." I whispered to my little flower ***. However my face may have whispered my state of distraught.
"I love you." I sang to the slow setting breeze. The words came off my lips with such an eloquent ease.
"I love you." I confided to the cold winter night. Through solace and indifference that comforted my plight.
"I love you." I proclaimed to my favorite blue pen, then I looked outside my window and that would be when,
"I love you." I chimed to the evening moon. Her bright light informed me that the time would come soon.
"I love you." I stated to the dimly lit telly, and that's when into the room walked my beautiful wife Ellie.
She glared at me and grabbed her suitcase, my heart pounded as such it would were I in danger.
She swiftly passed me a glance and left, because I could not say "I love you." to a stranger.
Crisp the evening lies,
with the songs of flight long fallen,
and around the masses hushed,
to the bell which has stopped a-callin'.

Darkness breathes the ice,
as crescent silver lights stone,
vagabond in vain searching hope,
nightime cries red alone.

Shards cold of glass crash,
to doorstep but no bed,
figure hunched like tired oak,
lay he there already dead ?

Soon black will yield to morn,
the grass fresh will shine with dew,
yet the oak still moves not,
but it's better him than you ?
How many words
will you devote to me,
- if any at all?

A feeble etch into cold stone,
a measly trench encapsulating my past,
where ice lingers on cold November
mornings, a distant and futile scar.
The gap, the take,
The spindle-rake.
Don't designate the load.

The lack, the sting,
The dandy spring,
There's more than you could know.

So weigh your time,
With thundrous lines,
This yours is yours alone.

Thus Live It Loud,
And Sunstorm Proud,
Use this full day
a tasty inspire nugget
covered in a bit of cheese
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