Poetic T 22h
Words are sometimes
                   like a blunt knife,
           they can cut over time
and you don't realize that itch
is but the blade edging deeper
under the guise of an scratch.

Sometimes people can stab
                                 you slowly,
and you never realize that
even though by your side.
their hand Isn't holding you,
              but the hilt pushing it deeper
with snake smiles coloured as friendship.
Poetic T 22h
The bleached headers collect on this
sea of silence, words collecting memories
                  of names now wilted and silent.

But we remember these crests of white frozen on
the fields of shattered dreams, dormant reminders
                           that not all names are still spoken.

Nerveless there are still waves of regrets
                  and honour for fallen impressions.
Buried beneath the sea of green, our future granted.
Poetic T 23h
Lying on the bonnet of the car,
          your mums blanket layered across.
We just look above, clouded skies skim
across the ocean of forever.

As the immortality of twilight
                 lingers before us.
Stones hidden from our gaze,
luminous echoes of distant motions.

But sometimes its nice to just look upon
                    the murky swirling above us.
Everything has a beauty, and we just look,
        meaning taken in forms of random flurries.
Poetic T 23h
It takes one star to guide me,
            but a million
     to momentarily lose myself within.

It takes one star to dream upon,
          but a million
     to lose it within mirages of self.

It takes one star to go out that,
        but a million
   still glow, but I miss that one the most.

"We each have a star we gaze upon,
               Let it always flicker for you,

Poetic T 23h
Embalmed within the suffocations
of modern society. I have the weight
contorted upon the covering of my mind.

Obscured within a coffin of  white noise
deafening my existence. I only see voids
of reflection clouded within my reality.

Lying beneath so many layers of contorted
nonsense. I live for the time of censorship,
Where life was silent and I wasn't buried.
We are all stitches in the cloth
                           of the universe,
each a moment holding
        the past & future together.

For without these
                   overlapping occasions
we would become frayed.
Undone not learning from one another.

But we are but one stitch among the
                    many colours that are
woven as far as the eye can see.
            patches that collected together.
I could clip the wings of angels.
           but still they would think
that heaven was a place to step upon.

When every god is deceased,
            and fact becomes reality .
                      Some still grasp at straws.

"We are awoken no longer slumbering  in denial,
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