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The Noose Nov 2017
December
Sashayed in
With soft shivers
Down my spine
Stilling the blood
Coursing through veins
Gathering bones
Trepidations
And faculties
Gathering all these things
Turn my face towards
The bright white
The reverie falling
Behind me
Like shadows.
2:28am
The Noose Nov 2017
Some nameless deflation
In the pitch black
The tapestry
Of deceit
Meticulously strung
Of the softest words ever spoken
The dead embrace
A body
A thing
Shrouded in mystery
I care not to unearth
I couldn't love you
You were a small war.
The Noose Nov 2017
I stopped writing about love
When I realised  
I am incapable of
Discerning between people who love me
And people who lie to me.
The Noose Nov 2017
Midnight's embrace
It perpetuates
With reckless abandon
It leaks from the cracks
Of this sick foundation
Then it buries without remorse
Nor recourse
These are the catacombs of intention
Is this the last of the blood jet red
The aftermath
Or the interim?
Sneers of anguish inhabit the spaces between panic ragged breaths.

*©The Noose
The Noose Nov 2017
How much seeth
And rumination
Does the night require
Before we can rest.
The Noose Nov 2017
Dust and Dead Weight
Shrouded in anguish
Marked by shame
Violent air in weary bones
Bathing in these
Waning threads of light
Vermillion mark
Were the heart used to be
Hyper, abandoned on the water
Rosy and disquieting
Tedious ricochet
Sacrificial devotion
The dizzying indecision
The paper thin backbone
Always the backbone  

Everything once gentle
Now littered with thorns
It always ends here
Dust and dead weight.
The Noose Oct 2017
Nostalgia drips from my chin. Their faces haunt me.
The curl of her hair is what remains etched in my memory
The blue of her dress
The fading figures
The sting in his eyes
His lengthy physique
I still remember his veiny hands
Arms folded
I remember the meal
The sinking feeling in my stomach
Waving in the distance
My ears are deafened by the sound
My heart deadened
As though someone else is wearing my body
My insides tremble
I remember the curl of her hair
The fading figures
Waving
I can still ******* tears
The lump in my throat
My soul enswathed in unrelenting murk
I feel but I cannot feel
I cannot recall yet I remember the way the sun felt on my skin
I cannot remember the final embrace
I cannot recall these things
I can still feel this thing
I cannot face it
The curl of her hair
I remember the blue of her dress
Fading shadows
Waving, smiling
I cannot forget the curl of her hair.
The blue of her dress
It is etched onto everything I touch, feel
It lives in between these painful breaths I take
Even now I cannot look at their faces.
Unedited
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