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"I've come here as a man in shambles—worn out from begging on my knees.
Please, I'm just trying to keep my family together.
Now, when you saw you're lover wore a ring around her finger, why didn't you stop?

I have half a mind to make you hurt, to make you bleed, to make you suffer.
I swear, if you've touched her—, oh, heaven,
Forgive what I would do to you, you monster.
And think about your children?
They'll never believe what you've done.

Listen, I'm begging you, back off.
Let me rebuild all the things that you shattered.

She meant it, I swear that she meant it, she whispered so often,
'Husband, I'll always be here with you.'

But always is always and always is valueless.
I wish I'd never heard her speak a word.

And I hope you see us—;
your wife, and your children, and I,
Buried in the wreckage of your crime,
While you're laying down your sins,
Softly leaning in to kiss your guilt goodnight.

She is mine. You stole her, somehow tricked her but we'll survive. We will. She loves me dearly—, you'll see. You are blind. She loves me dearly.

Breathe in.

He finally paused to take a breath
Then looked down—. It felt like staring into hell.
The man was seated in a chair before him, silent,
A statue framed in pain and flesh. He thought,
"Oh, what more can I say to sway him? To make this statue speak?
I swear he's made of stone and I am barely stirring up a breeze."


And after waiting in the silence,
Finally turned around to leave.
Broken and barely through the doorway,
Breathing slowly, beating hard, he heard him speak:

**"I guess love's a funny thing—the way it fades away without a warning.
It doesn't ask to be excused.
And when it's gone—oh, it's gone—and it ain't ever comin' back.

There is nothing you can do to save it,
To make it breathe the way it did when you were sliding on the ring.
Trust me: It's gone for good.

Now there is nothing you can do to stop me.
She is happy when she is with me and I am finally alive. I'm sorry."
 Aug 2013 maisie khan
River Raras
She thinks she is the kind of beauty that many worship.
All thin figure,
All dark eyes,
All nails that leave marks on your back and
All her lip biting and soft moaning

She thinks her beauty is a set of curves
She thinks her beauty is legs
Hips
Suggestive submission
She thinks her beauty is just talent,
She thinks her beauty is just an act
She thinks she's average, and her beauty is just made up

But her beauty is her eyes after the make up has run off.
They glow the sweetest, lightest green
(Her favorite color)
When the mask of mascara melts in a scalding hot shower

Her beauty melts you the same way.

Her beauty is the way she melts into your arms.

The way she talks like she doesn't care who listens
And listens like you're the only one that ever listened to her
The way she can say two things with one word and mean both of them.
Her beauty is persistence.

She would rather **** Superman than marry him
And I have no doubt that she could do either if she wanted to.

Her beauty is paying rent when she is already gone.
Her beauty is talking to the new guy when nobody else does, just to make sure he has someone to talk to.
Her beauty isn't in wanting to come in, but in her want to stay.
Her beauty is freedom seeking a place to tie itself down,
Her beauty is love for the sake of healing,
Even when the love isn't there.

Her beauty is the way she gives her faith to every good thing that comes her way.
The way she loves her dog.
More so, it's the way her dog loves her back.

The way her grandmother loves her back.
The way her friends love her.
The way a complete stranger can feel warm for days,
Just by meeting her for minutes.
The way nice guys have a real chance.
The way that she gives seconds chances to everybody,
The way anybody would risk humiliation to have one.

Her beauty is so deep that people can't climb back out once they've fallen in.

She thinks it's her ability to make love that's beautiful.
But I want her to know,
So desperately,
It's much simpler than that.

She is beautiful because it's so **** easy to love her.
I want you to know that it's okay to be broken. To just be the thousands of tiny pieces that you are. To not always be whole, but sometimes hollow. I know you hold things down in your chest; pushing them back to hide in all the darkest places of your heart. But I know it takes more out of you than you are willing to recognize. I know I'm the opposite of you and I get in trouble for that. And in all honesty..yeah, it does hurt to be ridiculed for just dealing with things how I need to. In spite of that.. I don't want you to ever feel like I do. Stop being so insecure. I know people have hurt you and I know I'm probably one of them. But those boys who have lied to you and fooled around on you.. That is their own insecurities coming out of them. They are good for nothing and I swear to you, in a few years it'll show through. Just realize you are beautiful and the best friend I've ever had even though we fight constantly and **** each other off. You may not always have the attention of the people you want or be praised by the people you want. But you've made me smile at least once everyday for the last three years and that has to be worth something, doesn't it?
 Jun 2013 maisie khan
Gary Muir
the funny thing about time
is the way it grinds your bones to dust
while they’re still sitting in your flesh

we can all feel it,
we pretend we don’t, but we do

you feel it when you wake up in the morning
having dreamt of your childhood
and the sound of your sister’s laughter is still ringing in your ears

you feel it when you look up from a book
and its not your brother sitting in the chair next to you
but a strange fellow with a deep voice
and a nose that looks remarkably familiar

and strongest of all, you feel it when at the dinner table
your mother asks you what you’ve been up to for the past 18 years

see, the funny thing about time
is the way it grinds your bones to dust
while they’re still sitting in your flesh

just the other night, I pressed my palms together
and I called on a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile,
to ask where he’d been

he told me he’d been spending time with my father
because the man really needed some company
without his oldest son to talk to

oh and while I have you, he said,
your mother called
she told me to tell you
that your bed is made, if you ever want to come home
i sat down to write a poem about anything but love. i guess when you're running from it is when it hits you the hardest.
 Jun 2013 maisie khan
Gene
Quiet and uneasy.  
The voiceless breeze at my back was thickly draped with irregular design.
There I was... staring at my warped reflection in the remoteness ahead of me.
A  revelation violated my over crowded mind and before I could even fathom my displacement,
the moon started melting.

As if calling out to werewolves,  the hypnotizing moon started dripping moonlight.
Glowing moon drops crashed to the ground and I found myself surrounded by the dreams of a thousand  kings.
Beyond the limitations of clockwork, I found myself surrounded and under siege by the visions of a thousand visionaries.

There I was.
A captive to crowns of light.
Taken.

A hostage to a deserted kaleidoscope of angelic halos...
So many blinding halos, all riddled with hidden wisdom and rare moon drop truth.
Halos infected with unfound secrets handed over to the chosen...
Secrets handed over by the masters of celestial emptiness themselves.

Like euphoric dreams within our nightmares...  
the same nightmares  found within our lost dreams...
The same lost and misunderstood dreams that dwell within a moon drops angelic halo.
Rare truth and untouched wisdom were  just too pure for reality.

It would take the hallucinations of a thousand truth serums for us to conceive thier virtue.

*Gene
truth se·***  
A drug supposedly able to induce a state in which a person cannot lie.

© June 2013 E. Little
You don't have to tell me
                 I'm not good enough.

I already know.
 Jun 2013 maisie khan
Gene
My poetry and I poisoned and misunderstood each other again last night.
Uncertainty has always been the love chemistry that my poetry and I would get lost in together.
Not this time.
Tonight I'll be getting lost in your silence, without love...
Our silence.

My poetry and I polluted and betrayed each other again last night.
Dangerous romance has always been the oxygen that's kept my poetry and I alive.
Not this time.
Tonight I'll be suffocating in the truth.
Better to be suffocated by truth than murdered by our silence.

last night, my poetry and I looked deep into each others eyes.
I became angry and without warning my poetry began to cry in purple.
Please stop.

*Gene
© June 2013  E. Little

— The End —