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mars Jun 2016
as a collective, we posses fragmented memories
broken memories
memories lost in haze
and memories saturated in red
memories of yesteryear, reminisced after a six pack of beer
dog-eared and torn, degraded and worn
haphazardly recalled to the forefront of our minds
coloring in the forgotten spaces with the most colorful crayon
discarded at the bottom of your childhood closet
warped and yellowed
we are afflicted by the warped and yellowed pages in the back of our heads

and that is how we come to be
the people, the places- your hopes and dreams
everything shaded by a veil of ambiguity
the veil of death
nothing is real, anymore
(if it ever was)
nothing is original
no one will ever live up to the expectations you hold over them
not the girl sitting in the back of your sophomore year bio class
not the boy with a broken past and a broken (and burned) wrist
sitting back to back

nothing is precious
and no one is innocent
original thought is dead
original content is dead
origins are a fallacy
and i am a non-believer
we are, as a collective, one
wearing a mask of a dead girl’s skin
collecting personalities like seashells
grotesque piles of rotting flesh piled high
suffocating me

ripping away at the light
at the others, the half-people
forcing chunks of decaying flesh down my throat
covering my decomposing body; piled high around me
the impending doom of the tidal wave of stolen lives
broken memories, broken truths, broken lives
waiting to crash over me and take back what is theirs
false prophets screaming convoluted cries of conviction
the chaos of knowing that what is me is hollow
and that what is really left of me is dead

(a.m.) 06/29/16
mars Aug 2014
you can't say that I was the one who kicked you out of my heart, when I spent months kicking and screaming, begging for you to come back to me. I sat, festering inside myself for days, and did nothing but stare at the walls that had a nasty habit of only showing where your fingers brushed against their sickly white barriers. walls.
I'll never forget the pleasant  cool feeling of the staccato wall of our high school,  pressed up against my back when you first kissed me. I'll never forget the day I wrote your name in the sand. I'll never forget the day that you built a wall so high around your heart, that not even you would dare to reach inside, for fear of falling in, and never finding a way out. I used to pretend that after the years, you'd let down your flowing golden rod hair, and I'd climb my way back into your soul, but I see now why they call happy endings like that fairy-tales. I loved you then, and I love you now, but you are no longer the bearer of my soul. you no longer hold my beating heart in your cold hands. I've spent weeks scaffolding the burnt brick built up about your breast, refusing to look down, refusing to see reason, to look to the crashing sea below me, but the trembles from your wrath shook me off and broke me down, and sent me plunging into the churning sea below. the powerful waves, held me down, stole my breath, broke my strength. It was what bound me. kept me in delusion. yet, it was bliss, and the choking vice around my lungs rid me of the hunger and the pain. I let myself drown in you, and drifted, broken, to the new shore. I allowed you to flood my lungs to keep me afloat. little did I realize, it was your iron grasp on my heart keeping my head above the waves. or was it my hope for you that held me up? was it my optimism of a better place that drifted me? I guess I'll never know.
it is with new legs, and fresh face, that I humbly walk these new shores, that I bear my heart and soul to breathe another lover's name, once again.

the relevancy no longer exists.

thank you, alexander, for helping breathe life into this work, and for bearing my pain for a short amount of time, to help bring this to life.
  Aug 2014 mars
Alex Huezo
The value of a good name cannot be put onto a dollar or in the bank.
It is not something that is sold nor bought.
It cannot be seen nor held
Yet should be treated as a jewel.
It should be regarded as a prized physical possession.
And as all prized possessions, it can be stolen.
It is a fire kindled by the goodness of oneself and the purity of intention.
The fire once kindled; easy to preserve. Yet sadly, as all fires, can be extinguished.  
An arduous task to rekindle a strong fire. To redeem that of the past.
It can't be re-credited from ones own experience; not from their rewards.
It is rebuilt from the adversity; from the tribulation, heartache, and regret.
A good name is the reward of forgiveness and maturity.
The reward for understanding and suffering.
It is a reward from those whom admire.
From those you need.
From those you have loved.
And The ones you have hurt.
  Aug 2014 mars
you're burning bridges
faster than you can build them,
making an abandoned
out of what was once called paradise      
you looked at me with an empty heart
and I tried to fill it  
"you're good, baby, you're so good"  
but my voice was so weak
and you didn't believe me
and, baby, you've gone bad

you're so busy fighting to be relevant
that you forgot to stop
fighting against the boy
with a smile like the moon
and arms like home

you've tried so hard to be tough
that you won't let the good things in
and the bad things won't leave
and you're dying from your own poison,
rotting in your own prison
from the inside out and

you're begging me
for something to quench your thirst but
I could pour you
glass after glass of compassion
and you'd empty it onto the floor because you can't bear to actually drink it

Instead you chase whiskey with self-pity
and I
watch helplessly
as pieces of my past
come dancing to life on stage
in front of me

I can't give hope to arms too shaky to hold it,
can't give faith to a stomach that can't keep it down     
"you're good, baby, you're so good," I whispered

but then I walked away and took my words with me, too
  Jul 2014 mars
SG Holter
One lover's hand reaches for her
Lover's humble question,
Another's travels slowly across
The impression of her body;  
Ghostweight on matress from
Miles away in mind and matter.

She embraces new scent,
Hands once bored now learn
Warmth and texture that once
Too will feel  
Too familiar,

While another reaches for a quill
And another and
Another to write himself wings
That span
Across time and tragedy,
To fly him too close to the truth

Of why he never could write
Himself to
A safe landing on firm
Fact, but rather spin images of
Coloured in connections between
Dots to form elequent
Lies such as:

"I'll never want another,"
"This will scar my soul forever,"
"I cannot live wthout her,"
"She'll never want another."

A fading faint figure on the horizon.
Slow motion flash backs of days and
Days and days to slow, sensitive
Music. Yesterdays all, for my own good,
Completely and utterly

Out of my reach.
I'm getting happier about
It with
  Jul 2014 mars
Alex Huezo
Your love was the foggy, soot-filled landscape. The dawn overlooking the scene. The light piercing through the smog. The hot, smothering air with a dry powder texture that cakes my lungs. Infects me.
     Your love was desolate; with only the sound of your voice tethering it to the rest of the world. The sound of the fastidious, yet somewhat, saturnine emotion was enough to keep me interested. You are the background noise that emanates from a television in an empty room that keeps me company. Your love is the remains of a scrapyard, landfill, or the outskirts of a factory. It is busy yet barren. Occupied but lonely. Near but never there.
   Your love was a pile of dirt, trash, and soot. Your love did nothing but overlook the melancholy of me. As if it was the eyes of god, they judged the corruption and pollution of my greed and desire with not anger or hate, but instead, with regret and sadness. It was always watching; always judging. And I was cursed. Never able to look away.
All feedback appreciated. The harsher the better.
  Jun 2014 mars
Dougie Simps
We've never met, but can I hold your hand?
Can our fingers intertwine? Can we place our toes in the sand?
Can I strum my guitar as you smile and listen?
Can I look into your eyes, see your heart with my vision?
Can I kiss you slow? As we both get lifted into space?
Can I tickle your forearm slowly as your hand gently touches my face?
Create a first date..the burn from the candle lights as desire starts to dim
As I hear her pretty voice, as I feel her passion from within
We've never met, but the idea of love seems to linger
The potential of my imagination..the thought of a ring on her finger.
We've never met, but I think about watching you leave and me starting to miss you
When you start to cry, my sleeves are your tissue,
Help you feel real affection
Help me get through all I've been through.
We've never met. We've never gave it a try
Why do I still want to meet you than?
Why do I feel these feelings?
We've never met, so why do I feel like our possibilities died? Why?
(I hope to see you soon.)
I hope to meet you, one day
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