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second chances
To fill. you. uP.
fellforthegirl in love
N <Ow>Doesn't that just say
it.      all
& this adoration
has ~never ~done ~me
much good
but _ then _ again
was; you
I wake up to the long whisper of morning
the beet-red smell of throbbing,
stops the birds from singing
stops her from spinning, now
cross-legged I,
I wear another small-dress
representing our pressed thighs,
reminding me
of October again, but it's
Thursday &
darling I cannot go back there today.
I need coffee; more pros and another blanket to
wake my pride.
I need to **** out the Orchid
lounging on my tongue after I've
watered your name
I was walking through a dream.

I fell asleep and shoes not meant for me appeared.
I put them on and stepped out the door.
Men and women passed and smiled, greeting as if I were one of their own.
They ushered along and I followed.

We entered a home and they showed me new furniture
and kitchen appliances;
speaking in a language I did not understand.
I smiled and answered in words also unknown.
We ate and danced for hours,
looking through magazines of dinner parties and picket fences.

A woman, fair and beautiful, took my hand
and we walked in the garden.
We kissed under the moonlight and she whispered something soft,
which I feigned to understand.

We returned.
The men and women were smiling,
holding a cradle and a wedding gown.
She looked up at me with hopeful eyes,
and I lowered my head in sadness.
When my eyes found hers, they were wet with tears.

The men and women began to slowly fade
and she briefly grasped my hand,
Before vanishing into the silence.
Two worlds departing,
which may hold hands,
but only for a moment.

I opened my eyes, with a heavy heart,
into the reality of me.
Waking from the dream, which can never be,
the tragic reality I see.
I am not sure which version I like more.
 Jul 2016 Olga Valerevna
 Jul 2016 Olga Valerevna
A marinate was played
Full of granite and fine rings
A bathtub of nosebleeds Danny and a bathtub of kings
All the cards that were dealt all the hands that we played pulled the curtain bell
Of my sleeve up to delay what I'd say and
All the cards we swept under the rug Danny all the music we screamed
From my sore throat and broken hands came the sound of suffering on a silent note in an empty room a bell jar and a piano and a single key being pressed in time to the sound of my weeping Danny
My friends ignored my cries
But here we are now with a new drum set and two sets of sticks for hands and we break everything we try to touch Danny thinking it can be played like the single key in that lonely room
Listen there are vultures in my throat in all my baby teeth and landlocked blues
I know that's the name of the song but I wanted to play it for you
Just in case you forgot I could sing out my suffering
And it doesn't sound so horrible now does it Danny
Because you don't know the story it tells
The blood diamond behind the curtain
Well it glimmers just as well
And I'm sure we can find a way to forgive ourselves for everything that was done
But I'm in a two step programme
Where everything gets reversed
And no I haven't slept in weeks Danny you're right I know I look like ****
I just haven't had time to think about what I'm putting in me
When I try to scream and I come up on a single static piano key
Listen there are ways we broke each-other and I'm sorry I tried
But the sound of my suffering
Doesn't mean waving goodbye
A poem inspired by a series of bright eyes songs.
while I chase the sunshine
& clouds framing the
shape of your mouth like
who am I to think she can fly or
get that high
but it's Sunday.
I am
asking the air a favor
that your thinnest shirt might
remind you of me
that the next time you run
the sun could burn you some
that we might get a drink and
blink a thousand times in a bar
is nonsense
weekend news
like a shovel to help make your pretty bed
call me your
friend and
tell her yes
wake up again and against it
ask me
if I am
in love
love isn't every when you're tired
but I dance I dance with love every hour
foot step on footstep, right now
you're on the couch
you're on my mind you're always
doesn't mean I'm being still
am I and am I ask me if I'm ever still
and I'd still tell you sometimes
I'd still say
sand and
I'd say I
love you too and
Last night's courage not to call you
last night and every;
peel off pretty, it's six it's 7,
Is something
is tired, rewind her

I can lie down, longer
she's got it, going on.
stitches and weekends
never with you on the weekend
isn't cotton
isn't your mouth either

living up handstands
living down longing
is really
is lonely
in yellow
I don't want, sometimes
I still want you shouldn't you
ever want me
isn't poetry
isn't easy
and every
blisters on
forget it
my lips on
Julie butler
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