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 Sep 2013 pale moonlight
Rob C
I sit here,
in the corner of my thoughts.
Running like a train on no coal.
My soul,
my whole being,
a ceiling with no end.
Glass house,
mad house,
ust throw the rock.
Drop the lock but grip the key,
I twist and turn but never break free.
These doors are endless,
I can’t pick the right one.
I walk the streets smiling but loaded,
Cocked like a gun.
Humming my favorite jingle, while I scan the bar for a lady to mingle.
Another wasted day in my life,
Another wasted cut of the knife.
Another wasted word of the day,
I sit and decay, and pray and say,
I’ll do better tomorrow,
instead of changing today.
When will this end?
When will the wrong choices subside?
Until then, I’ll sit and I’ll hide,
Here in the corner of my thoughts.
Thinking
Can sometimes
Get me in trouble
Thinking
Can be the thing
That gets in the way
Of the feeling
But sometimes
I have to let go
And just allow myself to feel
Stage One - Experimentation:
I've seen it before, on movies and television shows.
The peer pressure, the giving in, the going back again.
And that's exactly what it felt like to me.
The pressure of your hand against the small of my back,
The way my body fell apart at your touch,
Like an ancient foundation crumbling,
And the desire that stirred in my chest to feel your touch once more.
At first, I only wanted a taste of you.
But the thrill that you brought me was something not easily forgotten.

Stage Two - Regular Use:
It became a casual thing,
Feeling you coursing through my bloodstream.
A knock on the door like the prep of a needle,
And your hand pulling me in like the ***** of skin,
And within seconds, a high I couldn't recognize,
As though I was walking on the sky and the
Grass was tickling my eyelashes,
And your fingers were pressed
Into the dimples in my hips.

Step Three - Risky Use/Abuse:
Before I knew it,
I was lying awake,
Wide-eyed in bed at night,
Imagining your fingertips
Tracing the inside of my thighs.
So I brought my pillow and blanket
And pitched a tent at the foot of your bed.
Then swore to myself I'd never leave your house again.

Step Four - Drug Dependency:*
A minute without your breath against my neck
Causes my chest to burn and my knees to shake,
But every time your breath fills my lungs,
I can feel the years of my life falling away.
Your lips are my nourishment,
Your sighs are my fluids,
And your kiss is my IV drip.
Every part of you has consumed every inch of my thoughts,
Even the dusty corners I have forgotten about,
And with every gentle touch, I can feel the withering of my heart,
Like a flower never to bloom again,
But it's a beautiful destruction.
Sometimes I wish I was a taxi driver
Because I don't believe there is
A more honest person on earth.
They hear the apologies of
Intoxicated teenagers
On their way home from the clubs
That they used fake ID's to get into.
They hear the quarrels between
Frisky lovers
Who drank too much on their dinner date
And can't wait to shed their clothing.
They hear the ramblings of
Elderly folk
Complaining about gas prices
And the brand-name stores that
Put the local businesses under.
But sometimes, they hear the confessions of
Lonely travelers
Who were wandering the streets
At 3 in the morning, contemplating
How they would like to take their life,
Until they saw a taxi cab driving past
And realized it was their sign to go
Home.
A Loose Sequel to Rooftops
i want to go to sleep
     but you're just waking up
  so now i don't want to

timezones = ruining lives
 Jul 2013 pale moonlight
Annie
What is a home that
relies on strangers to
keep the peace? It's
barely even a house,
with foundations collapsing
leaving nothing but
broken memories and
empty promises.

A house that had
doubt hanging from the
ceiling and grief dripping
down the windows.

Angry hallways and
insults screaming from
the scales and mirrors.

Rooms with lying walls
that told you all of this
is normal.

Addiction was waiting
at the door for you,
ready to take you just
like it's swallowed
everyone you used
to know.
 Jul 2013 pale moonlight
marina
&on; the count of three, we laid out our flaws and
they mirrored each other perfectly-
when i tried to take mine back
i gathered some of yours (and it was
an accident, i swear, but i don't mind
carrying them for you)

i know how heavy you must feel
we have the same scar above our right knee.
TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.
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