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M Clement Jun 2014
Who's up for a downer of a catastrophe?
I left the tweets to the birds
My manager would hang me

"There's subtle meanings here,"
Says the caveman demeaning the women of the time,
"I think this will go on for ages."

Flying effervescent
Towards the lofty sun
Where "good poetry" sets

I'm the chainsaw to a wordsmith.
I'm the revolver to the head of the writer.

I'm textual suicide.
I know because of my sparing use of periods
Both in pieces and in grammatical ways.

Sunny days.
There's a time and a place
for all of them
But that's neither here nor there.

Asked if I could make music out of the words I so listfully splatter onto a cybernetic page, as if what I said had any meaning at all, and as if all emotion I threw out stuck to anything.
Deprecation
Defecation
Asphyxiation

I get choked up by my own ****.
I wanted to see if I could write again. I hope it's as good as I ever was.
M Clement Jun 2014
S.O.S.
Willing to give and receive
oral ***
to and from the opposite gender

I nearly shouted in an airport
I nearly came on your face: short

there was nothing there
There was nothing there

Crazy people with their crazy hairs
Lazy husbands with their Lay-Z chairs

I nearly ******* myself up.
I ******* myself up.
I ******* myself.
****.

Lustful irrealities succumbing to brain thoughts
in the part of mine own crime scene

Is it really that bad?
Is it really that bad?
Am I really that bad?
****.
M Clement Jun 2014
I perused your pictures
I got rid of the one we had.
You knew that.

I do this thing, I realize,
Where I get homesick
For hearts that I thought were similar to mine

If we were really present,
In this reality that we call home,
I'd remember the heartache
the hurt
the harsh words
the pain
the misery
the mixups
the ***
the lackthereof

And I'd remember that the "you" I'm recalling
Is not you,
but in the quaintest reality,
the person I had hoped I was dating.

And I'm at this weird impasse,
staring at your pictures,
Realizing that I'm staring at a person
I never really knew,
and worse,
a person that never knew me.
I guess I feel it should be said that I'm still a ******; just an fyi.
M Clement Jun 2014
Oh if I were only to write like the the dripping wax
Falling forth from the candle aloft
Then maybe you'd give a ****.
I wanted to mess with lofty writing and then throw it all away with something brash. It was a little fun.
M Clement May 2014
I wish there was something to say
To accurately dissect what's been happening,
but I think the fact that I can write says enough.
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