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Phylicia Dawn Jul 2011
Should my anticipation run and hide when the air so cold runs dry. My mind is a wonder in this ponder your hand feeds me. Some reason my heart says you're not a least bit overwhelmed, as I set myself up, but this I can't help to rely on free will and dwell. As I relate to the sun spots that reflect the conscious of hell we rebel, I sit back, trying to relax, staring through the tinted lens for time to pass. I reveal through the condensation, the eye of the drafty wind.

My mind wonders as I see the inevitable piercing reason for life bleed through the trees, quickly catch my eye. My heart races mystically to the beat of epilepsy as the hours surpass behind this sun glass. As I get to thinking, you remind me of the constellations breading, metaphorically speaking. The halo is gorgeous as your amber glows the Tuesday moon, bringing in a Wednesday revenge. I listen for a perfect circle to a perfect gratitude of the lust we all share in a wanted haunting spiraling into a Fibonacci themed sea.

Your strawberry kiss gathers a thesaurus of mood swings. It's heart carries a stone the size of the moon. Pity from far but a sight to see as the circle of life surrounds the familiar meaning of how much you mean to me. Only somehow, I find myself feeling like a LCD movie scene, Incomplete and all alone or like a childhood never ending story of love. Boring and make believe.

Some days I can't remember, some days I would like to forget. Like when lovers split into million's of pieces, we deal with it. I pirate about as my mates call me out as I blacken into fading out. A cool breeze to cold chill spinal tap heart attack buried deep in my bones like a diamond in the ruff, protected damaged goods. Keep me in mind, my fractal eye, frame this sight, picture it twice, what you see is what you find. (needs work)

Finding myself blind I'm reminded all the time, I'm bloodshot dry trying not to show you why the need to express my feelings. My reasons why are believed lies. With just one look, no second guess. You'll see my regret. You'll see me die a little in sight. The half heart you shared the day I felt it would matter, I felt I would care...

I would reside my life just to keep you near of a grateful insight. Standing in line waiting to see you see my side. I found my peace in between the daisies and the trees. You had fit the dream of being complete embraced me, to let it be. Hesitation aside I would rewind my life just to keep you close by, but the patterns we can't hide from this manifested tide. A rush of love a loss of touch. We reach for the sky but the stars just keep pushing high as we keep stretching our time here, it's all we have, is space.
I think too much...
Phylicia Dawn Feb 2012
Don't think too much - a word becomes a mystery. When you stare at a face you are

familiar with, you begin an unrecognized pattern of reality. Although, the face is a site to

see, a word is so meaningful but the difference is feeling. A word is a mess. A face is

dressed. It's like a dance in your head. You see the possibilities... You play this movie of

your dreams. Seconds pass by and all you see are a pair of eyes...
by Phylicia Riggins on Tuesday, February 14, 2012 at 10:00pm
Phylicia Dawn Jul 2011
This is the ice breaker.

I am always new to a conversation,

years gone by as days slow down.

You may relate to it like a fish out of water.

Breathing under earths clear-blue surface

its hesitation of a world spinning as words are spoken.

In need of a breath of fresh air,

comparing it as a gasp of an after thought.

A finger to the mouth, a cat caught the tounge.

Separation can be too much too scorn.

This irrelevance in term we call chemistry.

The deep secrets we hunt,

for an open country we live without.

Should we walk the talk?

We swim a mile in short term.

The distance a man can take to dive

gives this enough to cancel past premonitions.

An eye length away

we go where the bible parts the seas...

This long trail for a short cut we gut from the book of trust.

We take the scenic route

like riding a bike till it ends with a flat,

making us take a bus,

till it cost too much.

An arm and a leg we kick to swim.

One or the other as we struggle,

we use a foam vest astride by a whim.

This maze with secret illusions,

a movie The Laberenth comes to mind.

Make belive...made up dreams.

Morals of fairy tales.

Stroies told.

Or this fable to tuck you into.

Where there is no grandmother to look forward too.

Who says I love you?

A goodnight that can't live within you.

Nothing but a monster that we hide from under our sheets.

We stress to the progress of nothing but a scary cry of, what if's?

For a wolf like me faking it's false teeth

turns out to be a deciving catastrophy.

Made up and unforgiving.

Living my escape.

It's the farthest away from my problems.

The least of my worries.

If you must try to unpuzzle my riddle.

It comes naturally.

You have it or you don't.

It's easy if you know me...
Phylicia Dawn Jul 2011
Personal happiness applys a standard to move forward.

On a pessimistic note, as it sets a willful mind off track in fear of mistakes,

separation resets our procrastination entitled to self loath for regrets.

You set yourself up for failure.

As we refrain counting back the steps of recreational substance abuse,

it's just asking for counter clock-wise reenactments.

On a positive note, foreseeing a common continuum of false thoughts that manifest as it resets.

A realization amung the powerless cause a brave forsight continued in conduct

to bewilder a disappointment on a controlled lack of ongoing self destruction.

We have to have enough self respect for selfishness to look what's in front and forget what's behind us.





Help is on the way in a matter of how you portray your feelings.

We control it by a friends mission to seek what's missed.

We get over it, with a mother kiss.

Hope for the best is all we can admit.

Hit or miss, love is in us, as we walk the plank of faith.

Like a prom queens gown that doesn't fit or a stain on a wedding dress.

Our imperfections are what made us perfect.



Lazy skills in double vision cause a second opinion.

We call for an ambulance to cure a broken heart we all get in this lifeless jungle we live in.

When the doctor we call for has nothing but a dollar sign with no intentions for a death wish.

We trust this, "why not? What's the worst that could happen believe me *******?"

Trust me and my degree, but in the first stage of having a healthy baby you learn

to trust a crazy sinerio in a **** testing community.

We are raised in this blind sighted society as walking zombies.

One heart beat turned into separation anxiety.





So I drink beer, as I'm always giving out my writings, like a discount on sale.

Like a kitten we pet, I share them and do nothing with it.

I wonder why I feel what I have to say means nothing like a decoration.

When my friends truly relate, with a bottle in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

I don't know what to do with them in the end of a conversation.

I will say I like what I have to say, but it's just that it goes nowhere.

Just me adding a another selfless crime to reset our minds of how we read in between the lines.
Phylicia Dawn Jul 2011
I am running in circles from all these ups and downs. Ground uneven, jogging in place, gravity is the balance leading the first foot in. I keep moving where I originally began to begin. Now with every pair, running through these loops, each left turn wears the right shoe thin. All of this is to defend my time to let me win in the end from the first place.
     My rainbow race track lost it's golden rails. I jumped as if on purpose, more like a trip from a bump in the road I missed at last minute. So, I ran for a feeling of power, as I read the same page for hours. This book in my head, this book of white flowers. This feeling of safety has these words stuck to me, more like a bruise that stings from falling.
     Now, I may find a reason why, as I try. As I stretch my neck aside. No wonder I chase these clouds that run my life, as my shoulders raise high. I can't get down, no, I don't know how. A shrug of struggle...To redeem if this is a dream, you can always just pinch me. Babe, it's free...
Phylicia Dawn May 2012
Sometimes when you get to that time in your life, where everything makes since, with out confusion...
You find that you have no friends, and you become this "man" who learns how to use the feeling of emptiness and how life is meant to understand how to be okay with that of which we were brought up.
To feel this man made view point of creating this thought process of originality, demands an equal kindred spirit of sharing the building blocks kids used to fight over.
Our conscience tells us what's best, no more first words learned. No and meanings of the title a guardian is labeled are slowly diminished from our dependence.
Growing up is a confusing past. Something we shouldn't think about...
Falling in love over and over can deplete the respect you have for yourself.
Seeing the life you learn the word "No." from, as it falls apart in front of your eyes, as the years fly by and the days feel forever.
Creates this moon of them to stick in your mind.
I'm finally realizing I loved too much and gave it my all.
I suffered enough and forgot to let the other side in.
All I do is push rewind to a spotless sunshine.
I do my job and I move on.
Not seeing what I am leaving behind.
I've got it all (most) always when I get there, but then the pieces they just fall apart. (Modest Mouse)
I wonder whats next, afraid of the darkness.
I fear growing old and being alone in my man made hell.
The point of life is to spread the seed and experience what life has to offer.
But being brought up with our stained t.v. of a memory, we **** whats left of our dignity that keeps the ones around we love.  
I have let a piece of my self die.
To be a better man, I have to find myself where I left off and make a new one.
A family is what's missing in this state where I die.
We fear this end of year.
An empty bed as dreams manifest...

— The End —