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 Nov 2012 Owen Phillips
Tom Orr
I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.

I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.

My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;

"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.

I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.
I am telling the story,
of a girl that I know,
who spent a little too long,
on the wrong side of the road

On the verge of giving up everything,
he found a way to rescue her,
he snatched her by the collar,
and pulled her deep into his lair

In the cellar she stayed,
like a good little slave,
cooking, cleaning, waiting
while he went out and played

But this boy he called it Love,
and she ate that **** up,
so she took every hit,
and kept her mouth shut

He learned how to control her,
in every single way
from scaring her into not wanting more
to taking it all away

Sometimes it felt,
like she'd prefer a belt,
but the damage he did
left her needing more then help

He did everything he could
to keep her where she was
the only thing he told her,
was how she'd never be enough

While he didn't say it,
in that many words
she was smarter then the ones before
and she clawed her ****** fingers
to the last remaining door

When she made it to the light,
barely visible that night,
she used the last little bit she had,
refusing to tap out of his relentless fight

...

In the light, she took a nap

....

When she awoke from her slumber,
her eyes were heavy with wonder

Did those wounds that look so real,
become scars that finally healed?

When will the fear,
finally subside,
when will the tears,
say a final goodbye?

Why did you do it,
Why did you try?
Why did you hurt me,
Why did you lie?
Why did you answer,
Why did you cry?
Why did you bother,
Why did you hide?

You are a fool, you know,
for every goodbye...
I re-read the words,
I understood them this time...

You know exactly what you are,
you know exactly how to act,
you know just the right words to say
to keep em always coming back

No longer is she the victim.
no longer do you have rights
no longer do you have any control
of anything in her life

She has thrown a white flag,
and she has given you up,
you did more damage then most,
but not as much as she know

You didn't know what you were doing,
when you picked up the wounded girl,
while you thought things were going exactly as planned,
she was planning to destroy your world...

You gave her too much power,
you let yourself slip too soon,
you handed her the dagger,
and opened up your wounds

Asked her to do it for you,
said it was too heavy of a load,
showed her right where to place it,
and even pulled her hands in close

So when you said "I am ready"
she simply did what you taught her too,
you're bleeding on the floor you know,
and leaving a mess is rude.
They gave us the sun to explore this earth, the moon to go back home ... For in your dreams is another reality, and one you rarely see... Lucidly at least... Your dream self has explored. Has suffered. Has laughed. Has felt the fear of not being able to run as real as you feel me pinch you. How can that not mean something? How can I wake up every single morning, and not take a second to appreciate the opportunity to go back home, but wake up here...
They had to make these experiences feel real. They had to make us believe that being "awake" was as good as it got. They can't make money off you if you live in your dreams...so they refuse to let you sleep... 

Wake up! They scream. With their TVs and electro beats. With their Budweiser and whiskey. With there horsepower and responsibilities. With there everything. 

Fall asleep. In DMT. find the path they don't want you to see, find the boy that needs to breathe, find the answer and use the key, because we have the power to accomplish EVERYthing. SCREAM. "LEAVE ME BE!"

Stay out of my bank account, stay off of my streets, take your big brother, and give me back trees....
Angels

Your first angel was your mother.
She gave you the Ability to breathe.
She nurtured you for 9 whole months,
and pushed for however long.

     At that point different variables come into play,
your second angel is often a little hard to say.
It could be your father, if the cards play out right...
But sometimes, just sometimes, it simply is not.
Could've been your grandma, or a neighbor across the street...
Just had to be someone who never would leave.
Until they leave.
And then those angels sing the loudest song, the one your radio plays at dawn...
Your third angel comes, when you need them the most
and stay with you through distance, where you need them for hope.
   Angel number four is someone you've known before,
a connection so sacred, when together, it's known.
The fifth is a kiss, sweeter than any you've had,
an exchange of energy, that drives your hormones mad.
Like diving head first into a bubble bath...
The choices you make seem stupid and fast...
But totally worth it even if it didn't last...
      The fifth angel is a blessing, and one everyone should have.
The sixth is an elder, they will stand out like transparent opal in the glistening sun on a new day as the sun blesses the changing tides for the very first time. As if asking you to rise, and begin the new days fight. 

Angels. They aren't really in disguise.
DMT
Die ****, y'all tripped, I lean
 On the God that I've seen, 
When he met me in my dream, 
took my hand and showed me reality 
killed me dead with no helmet or memory 
He told me he loved me, humbly
        I told myself, I love myself, I discovered self.

     Rescued from the depths of unconsciously living in debt giving the world every last cent without knowing how to manifest I was drained without sense.
        Always on the defense, scared of present tense, did not dare to jump the broken fence and was stuck there burning incense. 

Wire wrapped into A sole proprietors pair of socks she didn't know would fit her shoes, how dare you. 
Doubt me!?
I doubt you. I doubt you could ever truly understand how much I could believe in you.  Or how easy it is for me to write you off. It's not heartless, with more heart than I know what to do with, I'm just not stupid. I won't be wounded, unless by self.
         Self is safe from self, and no one else. 

Let's put the world to sleep and meet em all in their dreams,
   give some prolific speech that has em waking up thinking,
      Is this my ideal reality?
Immersed
in speed limits we accelerate
and your picture is in the paper now, but the paper is a screen. We do things.
silly people have dreams while chewing gum
and talking to grandma.
She's on the smartphone; but never in the flesh, lately...
it's a drag she's getting the hang of the ****** thing
and you feel guilty like pink noise
and you wear ear plugs
you found on E-Bay
on purpose.

just everyday,
you might not be there.
you have a knack. we are the virtual celery, snapping at world's end.
burning down the up draft of a wind shear
specks in trouble
just everyday, your cyborg's heart is off center
now the center.
and your picture is never coming back
alive.
It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did,with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays,where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.

A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul..

Buy me gas for a lighter head..words said,spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain..soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound..without a sound or with no sound to hear..her eyes quite clear in the evening air,laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.

Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces,broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie..yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.
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