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Meghan O'Neill Apr 2015
Everyone is a musician
I found god. This is god
Good Friday made better by sprawling empty city
And pure deafening sound
Being thrown to the ground
And treaded on
And picked back up again
By tender and caring hands.
Bruises remain and muscles ache for days
Ears ring.
The flash of light and pure raw sensation plagues my dreams
I fell in love so many times that night
In love with all the nameless faceless bodies
The bass so tangible it withdrew something from me
My breath?
And cold winter air breathed back into me
Crowds of tender lovers
Carry me to safety.
What is the opposite of sleep?
I found god
And the peace within chaos
Virginity restored by sin
It is a sin to feel so much at once
To feel full
It is a sin that I will never repent
It is a temptation that would bend the iron will of god
I did not doubt in that moment.
I did not doubt anything
Not even the rain.
I went to a La Dispute concert last night and I still can't really internalize the entire experience. I didn't think it was possible to feel so much at once.
Meghan O'Neill Mar 2015
To watch your chest heave
Up and down and up
And down
Faster as my mouth moves
Silent words and speech
Whispers of
I love
But oh so silent be the lamb that follows
When the leader is waiting on the flock

To watch your chest heave
And heat
Discarded threads of yarn
Typically mistaken for fabric
Lips and teeth
And bruises.

To watch your chest heave
Red eyes
We're both high
And I'm crying
Fingertips touch
And you reach inside me and pirate my heart
I am but a carbon copy
The flesh you removed from me
Removed me from.

To watch your chest heave
Hurts me.
Meghan O'Neill Mar 2015
“Dear Kitty-cat, black and pretty, tell us what to do in order to get away from thy mistress, the witch?”

Pity on the poor soul
Do your work with seeds of sympathy falling from your eyes
Stitch up the wounds of dead flesh
Beat on broken drums and sing in time with the willow branch
When the screams of the innocent drown out the howl of the wolf sing too

The birch tree lisped with its leaves, “Thou hast never put a simple thread over my branches and the little darlings adorned them with a pretty ribbon.”
Meghan O'Neill Mar 2015
Don't want Beatrice
We want a benediction
One final song to bring an end to this friction.
The volcano days with the finality of Pompeii
Return flesh that once was beige
Into a sullen shade of grey.
We were all born to die
So return to the ground and sing
We are all kings we are all kings we are all kings
Meghan O'Neill Mar 2015
Art is dead.
Corporate Christmas. Merry capitalism.
The word of the wolf is our gospel
Misleading the flock towards exodus
A charming smile on a mouth full of teeth
Picking every last bone clean

Art is dead
Uniformity and the beat the heat of war
Culture of violence breeds fighters
Not writers
Great minds forbidden to create
A masochistic parade

Art is dead
Shout loud until your heard
And then speak louder
Tear down the walls between us and them
The ******* need to hear us
Taste the fire of our words
And the pain we don't deserve but we feel anyway

One people one voice one song
Sing along
With raised fists and open palms
Burn the pages of capitalist psalms
Sing along Until the pigs are gone
Meghan O'Neill Feb 2015
Electricity and emotions
Unconscious and subconscious
Predominant and primarily dominant
Hands like claws with fists full of skin and sheet and shirt
Unable to discern
Just feel
Rocking into the shore with passion and power
No mind to silent sediment
Relentless currents pulling everything
Waves tumble head over heels but never stop
Lightning strikes
But then fades away again
Never constant but dangerous and beautiful
No names, just feelings, no emotions, just feelings and flesh
Red snow
Reflection? Or animosity
Animalistic atrocity
Like lightning but prettier
Stay after to admire
Sink in and do it again every year
Write about it think about it
Raise hearts to god in sinful praise
With handfuls of lover's grace
Remind me of the days when I didn't regret the moves I make
Fill me up so I can forget
For a while
Charged with emotion
Direction unknown so let it go
Give it to someone else
The faceless nameless midnight confidants
Express yourself
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