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woolgather Jul 2017
I'll bury it,
How I scream so loud
That the earth would just swallow me whole
If it would mean my words would somehow touch yours;

I'll bury it,
How I long for the ravens to eat my carcass
As I wait for you to even just whisper my name,
And regard it as cathartic love;

I'll bury it,
How I write with withering flowers
And rotting souls
And tell you I write with the morning blossom;

I'll bury it,
The broken **** I am,
And fill your fields with dew;
If that's what it would take—

For you to see.
How much I write around your letters;

For you to notice.
How you make me high when you're high,
And low when you're low;

For you to know.
How hard it is for me to see you uneasy.

I'll change.

*Even if your words go to another
  Jul 2017 woolgather
Corvus
I'm the monster clawing at the walls.
You gave me the taste for your blood and then locked me in here.
Your scent stains every surface in the room;
Tantalising but with no flesh to sink my fangs into.
Rabid dog-type wildness becomes me,
Transforms me into a thing driven by madness and instinct.
You are the prey with footprints but no body.
I am the predator never knowing satiety.
Pacing replaces hunting, I'm starving,
And your constant, elusive presence has me frenzied.
Viscera begin to litter the room.
Yours or mine? I don't know. I'm starving.
Suffering from writer's block, so this is a repost.
  Jul 2017 woolgather
Sometimes Starr
The human God is so confounded in polyphony
Frustrated in the midst I stand, dissonance pulls at me
I have learned to scream, "SHUT UP!!!" while maintaining
Complete silence, so as to not upset the dream.

The monster wardens of the dream frighten me,
They brandish chains and make me urinate into cups
They make assumptions and speak in strange tongues
I don't understand.

I know the right way to treat me, I have touched its face
But these monster wardens of the dream
Have their own agenda, they color the room wrong,
Sting, Misunderstood, Sourstomach Green.

When I have such potential if I could airlift myself
And drop him into the correct place,
With instruments and a small apartment
I'd help lots of people, but apparently I need a degree
I need proof, I can't be a felon
I destroyed property.

And mother says it isn't proper to ask for a patron,
That's begging and it's for people with cancer.

Call me a whiny Western cliche, I don't care,
Despite that my record has real value
And my staunch observation cuts right through
The idiocy of everything I've had to go through

I was a problem child, but YOU were a problem circumstance
I blame the space between all of these people:
A problem county, a problem country, a problem lawyer.
A problem jail, a problem lover, a problem parent.

I will face my problems squarely
When i feel a little less depressed
Than I felt today.
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