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May 2014
I can write out the sounds,
     prepositions and nouns
          that would help us to better relate,
but I can't stand to keep
     all these things in the deep,
          so allow me to pontificate.

I have wrings on my hands,
     broken bones in my tongue.
          I have methods of making me sane.
But this madness escapes
     when my feeling berates
          sensibilities trapped in my brain.

I feel stupid and foolish,
     unsightly and ghoulish,
          like I'm breaking my back as I walk.
I have whispers and sighs
     just in back of my eyes
          cause I can't stand to hear myself talk.

There are reasons and doubts
     that I can't live without,
          and my mind's a marina of stone
where excuses abound,
     and you won't hear a sound
          cause in here, you're completely alone.

I have struggled and sought
     to direct where I walk
          so my steps stray away from this place.
But with each passing day,
     I examine the way
          that I'm losing the whole human race.

I'll escape with my pride,
     and my veins open wide -
          even then, only once in a while -
just to trip down the street,
     keeping quick on my feet,
          holding fast to my Cheshire smile.
Riq Schwartz
Written by
Riq Schwartz
   Beth Ivy, bones, --- and ---
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