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Aug 2013
wearing your heart on your sleeve is a dangerous game
that only the lonely people play
and i have found, that when you smoke a pack of desire a day,
you are constantly searching for a flame.
onlookers examine all the fissures and clefts left by yesteryear's guests
the men who treated your heart like a map, riddled it with tacks,
realized it lacked a place to live in, and left.

all the antiquated philanthropists who searched for their languages in your pulse,
strands of hair in your bed, so pleased to have left their scent on the pillow
and you've begun to hold your breath
to prove to them that only you can make your heart skip a beat
and you've begun to dry clean your sheets, cold water
hanging them from the rafters of your childhood bedroom in your mother’s house
sweat it out girl, you’ve gone too far south
found yourself melting like butter in the devil’s mouth
and now you wring out the warm bodies tucked in your every pleat and crease,
letting the sun bleach away the pieces of people still surviving in me.
when you look at the sky, blink your eyes and change your rotation
so what if this society treats infrared incubation like it’s latent
I’ll rip the past from every pore, i abhor those kind of TV audiences,
the ones that are obedient and well fed
coming back to dine on the same lines each time, it's high fructose revenge
the sinister scent of stereotypes is hanging in the air
those little lies people tell when insisting that they care
about anyone outside of themselves.

and genuine kindness never really seems to come in stock
but i never **** the birds because i refuse to throw the rocks
my life is not just another kiss laced with arsenic, that
sick kind of hint about how thick my blood really is.
this is not a drama, this is not a soap opera
my life is not a novel and you are not the author
sure you’re having a hard time but you’ve been improving your posture
and it looks like he didn't know you were nitric until you dissolved a linguistic string,
and now he's realizing you bite back when attacked, and you have some surprises to bring
my new hype track for the evening is silence not seething
they didn't know; arsenic can only dilute a nitrous being
so this time, my knees will not break like the fickle figs from their stems,
sequestered in skin cells, ****** shell dropping dead
and this time I’ll find the strength to change, isn't it strange,
how you can wake up one day, and refuse to keep being misled.

and today they brought my bones to the cellar door in his chest
he didn’t mistake even an instant of no for the plump petal of yes
and he tells me, "there will always be people out there who will love even your
imperfect blisters cracking like transistors,
because when you're looking electric everyone’s listening to the frequency within ya
you were put here for a purpose, you will never be worthless.”
and this is no longer a decision; there are places you belong and places you'll fit in
where you'll flourish and gain a thicker skin
and it's about time we stopped chalking up our mistakes to bad habit.
so when i see that golden ticket i'll grab it and let life flow because see i've been told
rivers reflect train windows in the mornings till they glow, first gilded and gold,
then subtle and slow. the hope creeps in, i make the decision
to go
Claire Waters
Written by
Claire Waters  -
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