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MC Hammered Nov 2014
I save bottle caps, and dead lighters.
I save half finished cigarettes.
The colorful ends of incense sticks,
empty bottles from that night last week,last month,
last year.
I save every note passed,
out of service phone numbers,
rocks that find me.
I save old playlists.
I save CDs that are too scratched up to play anymore.
I save books found in abandoned buildings,
falling apart at the seams.
I save dead roses from that Valentines Day,
and dead hydrangeas from the following Summer.
I save the sand still stuck in my shoes.
I save Dad’s ring, Mom’s pendant.
One day I will save
Grandma’s gold cross.
I save the happy tears, the sad ones,
the unexplainable ones.
I save all the opportunities I never took,
all the ones I did.
I save his hazel eyes,
her brown ones.
I save the foggy mornings and
the rainy afternoons.
The seemingly endless nights with no place to be, nowhere to go.
I save the time.
I save the lonely car rides under falling leaves.
The silence.
I save the feeling of missing him,
and all the things I never got the chance to say.
I save the longing and the wallowing.
I save the strength that pain demands.
The gratification of a hard days work,
and calluses on hands.
I save the knowledge that I can’t have one
without the other.
~
I save everything I can catch with worn, weary hands,
everything that does not
slip between the
cracks of my
fingers.
MC Hammered Sep 2014
I am not your sometimes.
I am the traces of solace on unlit dirt roads.
I am the bottom of the bottle.
I’m the last drag of your last cigarette,
tasting me on your lips
long after disposal.
I am the empty space on your chest.
I am the cold chill of change, the goosebumps too.
I am the deafening silence in mists of chaos.
I’m the illuminating moonlight,
hiding alone and in the dark.
until morning returns.

~

You are the the book I throw across the room
then hours later pick up again
to leaf through your pages.
  You are not my sometimes.
MC Hammered Aug 2014
I know you won't, but don't dare say it.
I can tell.
When you're pushed up
against the small of my
back,
fingers wrapped around my neck,
breathing in my
smell.
MC Hammered Jun 2014
Walking barefoot down rocky dirt paths.
Kicking up clouds of dust with each step,
testing the thickness of my soles soul,
I found comfort in the pain of each sharp stone,
digging deep. Comfort in pessimistic understanding.
Knowing, the next wouldn't hurt as bad.
Wounds turn to callus. Hardened skin, hardens within.
Each weathered scar, reminder of hard earned strength.
Ritual of self inflicted mutilation by choice, rocky dirt path
by fate. Walking, walking, still. Still barefoot
down rocky, dirt paths.
MC Hammered Jun 2014
You're like winter to me now,
bitter and frozen.

Wrapped up in layers of unfamiliar
fabrics and smells.

Distant summer scorching.

There are still grains of sand in your shoes
but the first frost has
long passed.
MC Hammered Apr 2014
There's more
wine
in the glass than
ink
in the
pen.

A truly conflicted
narcissist
upon
obscured
reflection.

Beauty.
Skin deep?
I'll carve
manifestos
in
flesh
when the wells run
dry.

Trace each
scar
with
shaking
fingertips and
blind
eyes.
MC Hammered Apr 2014
I always keep the sunroof
open.
Even on the cloudiest days.
I would not refuse
him.
So if he returns I will welcome his
warmth
with windows wide
open.


My skin as felt the
bitter
touch of being shut out
cold
but it never stopped missing the
goosebumps
his
sunrises
would bring.
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