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Madison Feb 2016
My body is mine.
This skin will be new
in seven years,
and it will be skin you haven't touched.

I thought I was three years closer
to revival,
but you have struck seven more
on the board I wish didn't have a tally.

My body is mine,
but now it's yours, too.
You have a piece of me I will never get back.
So does he.
Madison Feb 2016
my best songs were about you
full of pure honesty and hopeless desperation
they were written in minor keys
on lonesome days when I needed you most
Madison Feb 2015
As children it was innocent
Not much older now, but I still
Don't want to let go because I can't forget to
Remember the years that felt

Thinking his car was some symbol of freedom was such a
Youthful mistake; he was older and
Let me drive him crazy,
Even though he let me go
Right before we crashed.

Called me after the sun came up and
Held my hand as we
Rode in his truck.
I can still remember how he moved his first time.
Saturday night or Sunday morning, who knows,
Time blurred when I looked directly
Into his face.
Always closely watching me;
Never looking away.

Out of my
Every time I'd hear that ring but
Phone calls could never
Hold us together

Bottles of pills,
OCD filled.
Better yesterday,
Better tomorrow.
You never understood his kind of crazy.

Needless to say,
I can't get over the way you
**** me.
I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.
Lit the cigarette, and just stood there.
The snow was falling,
the wind was blowing.
Off in the distance the sound of a train.
Just another morning in plain old Fort Wayne.

But the bitter bit back and took my breath away.
And something came over me in my nicotine haze.
I felt so real, yet so far away.
Like I was in another world,
some other place.

Then my breath came back
bringing me back with it.
A little disappointed, but slightly uplifted.
Close my eyes and feel the wind
and wait for it to take my breath again.
A thing happened, so I wrote about it.
  Jan 2015 Madison
Jerard Phillips
Poor runaway girl

Packed bags in the corner by her table
Burnt out cigarette butts in the ashtray
Another day, another man, another broken dream
Another town, another time, another try

Always was daddy’s favourite little girl
Doe eyed, round cheeked, silent and touchable
He would never let any harm come to her
The apple of his eye, sweet as cherry pie

But at night there was a monster
In her most private place he would haunt her
Never good enough for others, only he wanted her
Silent words from silent lips, that’s he taught her

***** needles, high heels and red lipstick
Choice of an entire catalogue of monsters
Some rich, some loving, some loud, all looking for the same thing
Used and *****, abused and shake
New monster, same fate

Packed bags in the corner by her table
Burnt out cigarette butts in the ashtray
Another day, another man, another broken dream
Another town, another time, another try
  Jan 2015 Madison
Daniel Magner
my fingers don't move
quite fast enough to melt faces
my voice doesn't go
quite high enough to send shivers
through folks
my words only capture
the gist
it feels like I'm always
not quite
good enough
Daniel Magner 2014
Madison Jan 2015
I can not tell if I feel trapped,
or just lonely.
I walk through halls
filled with heads
emptier than mine.
I often loathe
waking up in the morning;
I know the day will be miserable.
Five months
is too long to just pass time;
I don't want to waste more of mine.
I can't relate to anyone,
at least not anymore.
I haven't connected
with these small-minded,
small-town people
for the past seventeen years.

I need to get out of here.
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