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 May 2013 Plain Jane Glory
Jeremy
why
One day I woke up and realized I shouldn't love you
So I wrote this to remind me why

you lie and you cry and you
flirt with other guys and
hate my eyes and
always ignore
me and sigh
whenever I ask you what's
wrong and you reply with some
cryptic *******

and some days you just sit
at your table with your
thumbs inside the sleeve of your
yellow sweater and you trace your scars
you made with your razor
in your bedroom when you
thought no one loved you but
I really did

and you never want to
answer when I ask
why or when or how
or who or what
made you cry
but I know that it's why
your eyes are stained blood red

and i don't know if i hate
you because you scar yourself
or love you because
of the way you hide it

and I know that I'm cheap
not gold like in your dreams
but like that old guy who died
once said
find what you love and
let it **** you

and you sure as hell **** me

and you know that thing
that you said about how
things get better but things
also get worse and I don't think
you realize how much that means
because with you nothing ever gets better
it just gets worse and worse and Worse
with a capital W

and finally I hate how you never
use Love with a CAPITAL L
but instead you always
use love like I love him
and I love this and I love
that and I love you but you never
Loved him or Loved this
or Loved that
or Loved me
a personal favorite
 May 2013 Plain Jane Glory
Jeremy
She's the kind of girl
who would walk up to a
stranger and kiss him
or her on the mouth and
not give a **** what anyone else thought
And if she could, she'd make every single one
of her dreams come true, even
the nightmares.
And night after night she
finds comfort in the arms of strangers
and cigarettes and cheap wine.
And she'd do anything to stop feeling
so ******* lonely.
So ******* empty.
So ******* numb.

She's the kind of girl
that would set fire to her hair
just to feel alive.
it is morbid thinking,
i'm aware of it.
stroll down into
a cemetery
and that urge to
pull the daisies
and the roses
and the lilies
and every flower
from the gravestones
takes full control,
like instinct
in a hunting
animal,
the colors on the bleak
sun and rain washed
rocks
sicken me.
what's the reason
for the dead to
petition for
more beauty?
is the glorious
eternal sleep
not enough for them?
greedy *******.
a week ago I wrote this. it's alright i think.
 May 2013 Plain Jane Glory
AM
Thank you for loving me
And I'm sorry that I cannot do the same
For I seldom express my love
And am only capable of causing pain
I remember when I cut my hair
Because you preferred it short
Now you're gone
And I'm sitting here
Wishing it was long again.
Cigarettes are enticing
when they are inhaled between
the lips of a beautiful boy
with a perfectly crooked smile
and mysterious eyes.

But his smile is stained
with traces of nicotine,
and the puzzle in his eyes
is impossible to solve.

And when you kiss him,
you can taste the stale smoke
lingering on his breath;
the stale smoke that has filled his lungs
and left them black and tarred.

He says they’re nice
when you’re feeling numb.

So you take a drag
in hopes of filling your lungs;
filling your emptiness.
But it leaves you black and tarred
all the same.

**m.s.
The sky has darkened,
filled with clouds
a violent, jagged
black. Night has
shifted.
Thundering,
shattering across
the vast horizon.

St. Michael,
the Archangel.
Defend us in
battle.

The dream has given
way to nightmares.
Day retreats
to night.

This battle is
just another
variation of my own
jaded
reality.

I’m having a
conflict of interest.
Who will make it
out alive?

Be our protection
against the wickedness
and
snares of the Devil.

I need it now.

No shield to protect.

Dreams burned
white hot into
the back of accepting
consciousness.
Scarred from memories.

Unforgiving supernatural
spirits working
behind
the veil of what is
and what is to be.

May God rebuke him,
We humble pray.
And do thou,
O Prince of the Heavenly host,
by the power of
God.

These premonitions are growing
in the shadows of self-doubt.
Breeding self-destruction.
I must remember
better times.

If it is to be than
what can be done.
Predetermined outcomes
wait at the tipping
point between
this world
and
the gates of Hell.

Fire whipping through air
sapping life from all forms.
Red glow blinding.
Suffering ,
with a fleeting hope.

I must not forget
what past has presented.
What future holds…

Only when it is accepted that
the calloused hands of
Fate
hold the fragile strings.

Can I truly be free…

From?

****** into Hell Satan and
all the evil spirits.

Oh,
the ending is coming.

If I could only
wake up from this
haunting.
Eyes closed,
listening
to the music of life.
Watching bright light
overcome the
coal black distress.

Who prowl about
the World
seeking the ruin
of souls.

I can make it.
The time to be idle
has passed!
This battle will
turn into
all out
war.
When all one must do
is be the best person
they can be.

I can
And will.

I must.

Amen.
COP: You killed a homeless old lady in a wheel chair  
KID: I know, I was there…  

he grabbed her
stabbed her  
slashing her again and again,
downward through hot flesh to cold bone  
like she was some mattress filled with money
in her pockets were slips of paper
with hopeful, hopeless scribbles,
cigarette butts and
two dollars and seventy-six cents,
all in change,  
which he exchanged for Skoal
or maybe…Red Man  
the **** colored juice from this bounty
dripping from his grinning mouth
when the cops cuffed him  
and shoved him into their cruiser  

he confessed, over and over  
like he wanted to have one confession
for each slice of the blade  
for each wound he made
for every other silent sin he saw
an acknowledgement
of his petty part  
in the fall  
he wanted her last sight
to be of him shutting her eyes,
muting her cries
to him, luring lullabies    

the judge would not put him to death,
though he would have liked to  
even with his own hand, he mused  
for who could be so joyously jaded  
at the slaughter of another  
instead
he again asked, why?

KID: I made ME immortal in her sight
JUDGE: Your eyes will close a final time as well
and nobody will be there to tell
KID: I know
JUDGE: Do you?
Based on a true story of a 21 year old who murdered a homeless woman in a wheel chair--he took her change and bought chewing tobacco--the deranged young man said he wanted to be the last thing she saw...
He was sitting at the bar,
not a nice bar at that,
when she walked in
uplifted by the draft
as she let the heavy door
close behind her
draped in a black dress
with black hair
like a shroud
and pale skin
like bones
she sat two stools down from him
and ordered an old fashioned
and necked it down
before ordering another
and another
and another
losing none of her poise
and no sign of flushed cheeks
she made eye contact with him
and for the first time in his life
he knew fear
and he knew he wanted to be scared

He ordered two old fashioned's
and slid a stool over
and told her his name
holding out his hand hopefully
she took it
with dainty fingers
her skin was colder than the creek
that he had been dared to swim in
during the winters of his childhood
"I think we've met before" she said
a voice like a funeral dirge
"so you must come here a lot" he replied
"you could say that,
or you could come back to my place"
he was more than happy to oblige
together they trudged off into the inky night
and he was never seen again,
and the next night
she was back at that bar
drinking old fashioned's
and waiting to be approached
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