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small cheap rooms where you walk
down the hall to the
bathroom can seem romantic to
a young writer.
even the rejection slips are
amusing because you are sure that
you are
one of the best.

but while sitting there
looking across the room
at the portable typer
waiting for you on the table
you are really
in a sense
insane

as you wait for
one more night to arrive to sit and
type Immortal Words--but now you
just sit and think about it
on your first afternoon in a strange city.

looking over at the door you
almost
expect a beautiful woman to walk in.

being young
helps get you through
many senseless and terrible
days.

being old
does
too.
Broken conversations,
empty lungs,
doors half open,
hearts almost out of love.

We used to talk of how
we used to be infinite.
But now every second now feels
like a stroke against an unforgiving current.

Our conversations broke
as the flaws of our souls
fell through the cracks of this glass foundation.

These upset words that escaped you
left the air around me a little sad,
a little awake,
and with a lot of echoes.

My lungs went empty
talking you down.

I left the door open for you.
So you can walk in
and slip in quietly-
I won't say a word.

And this heart could never go empty,
not mine.
Yours,
at this point,
I know not.

Flowers never lost their color
as long as you walked this earth.
Only fools rush in
But I don't believe
I don't believe
I could still fall in love with you 

I will love you till I die
And I will love you all the time
So please put your sweet hand in mine
And float in space and drift in time

All the time until I die
We'll float in space, just you and I

All I want in life's
a little bit of love to take the pain away.
                

This song is beautiful and it plays in my head.

It makes me happy.
Every woman should bathe herself
then look in the mirror au naturel and say,
"My body is beautiful" because
we forget sometimes that the only person
we need to please is
**ourselves.
 Apr 2014 mosquitoism
Luna Lynn
because
The words; they just keep coming
You feel the heat rise
From the pit of your insides
and you can't ignore it
in fact you adore it
The buildup of emotion
The release of commotion
It feels so good you scream
It doesn't matter who hears it
you know what it means
(C) Maxwell 2014
 Apr 2014 mosquitoism
SG Holter
Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.

Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.

The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.

The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.

All flexing builds muscle.

Rough bricks form castles.

Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring

Too much
To keep painting.
 Apr 2014 mosquitoism
Jack
~

Love - Lost


There was a time
it meant something to feel…
love

The sun shone bright

Counting heart beats
Dreaming of forever
Gazing into the wonder
Longing for each moment shared
together you and I

Then came the storm

Dark clouded misery
Cold windswept weeping
Blindly walking
Puddled desperation filling
vacant places you once stood

Now is the time
it means something to feel…
lost
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