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Moe Jun 9
Distant at heart
A slow developing
Thought makes it out
We are not clean from guilt
Only disguises
Even words don’t make
The odd hours pass
This you and I
Moe May 15
the wind is always cold
you look over the edge
drop slowly
your mouth chews out vowels and they resemble minutes
end-over-end crowds lost among your breaths
you dissolve and ask me to think of a place
with no points in the sky
Moe Nov 2019
your hands are etched
with tiny dry lines
that cut
each one-way road to nowhere.
Moe Sep 2019
if i clear my head
i am afraid
of
(all the choices)
i have made and all
the things that i will come to terms with
on those long drives where I somehow will drown and i had this feeling that
you always wanted me to be someone
else
...you wanted someone else.
Moe Jun 2019
those tiny circles
you pretend to draw on my skin
always make me smile
Moe Jun 2019
You call in the morning
Words trample over my lips
Teeth get in the way
As the mangled sound  
Makes its way unto me
Each letter trapped
And burnt
©️Moe
Moe Oct 2013
“Before I go”
The words that oozed down from my lips to the floor
On the last day I felt the warm progress of your sleep
Standing naked among all the eyes of dawn’s early flowers
****** to death by passerby’s and
I empty all that hangs from my intestines unto these dry hands
A distant fake glimpse is all I get from being a dull **** to the appalling petals of your youth
Hopeless and desolate…waiting for the rain
My ugly mirror ball devouring the inches of a developing a soul and slowly the fractured stains strangling my interior
Have all been spent
The slow motion of your breath up against me
In doses I have taken the cheap blue masquerade
From your lips
I have stolen the thoughts which deliver sour milk to the
Icon babies of yesterday
That apocalyptic look-alike glue makeup on your face has kissed me naked in sunlight
Our figures loose their beginning and end
The fascination of pushing my sleep drenched hands into shallow water merely putting you to sleep
What if the world enjoyed the twist of your body breaking into the mirror deep?
Ascending across the wet brush strokes of some painters dreams
In my eyes your smile
It was the very last thing
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