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I did not sleep much
thinking of the words you bled
lost and found treasures
Senryu
and when I'm suddenly sparked by a thought or by an instance

i am compelled to write
~and my hands obey my souls commands
I WANT TO BE THE REASON YOUR BONES THAT ARE ATTACHED TO YOUR GUMS APPEAR ,TO BLESS HUMANITY AS A LIVING, BREATHING STAR BLESSES OUR DULL EARTH

                                                          ­  AND WHEN SPEAK OF ME I WANT YOUR SOUL TO POUR OUT OF YOUR TENDER LIPS GRACEFULLY BUT VIVID LIKE A WATERFALL
 Oct 2015 pralay patra
Kirsty
Shhh
 Oct 2015 pralay patra
Kirsty
Why are we so quiet?
I will tattoo that question onto the tip of my tongue in the hope that it will smudge onto yours.
Why  -  are we  -  so quiet    ?

"Shhh,"
he tells me in a 3am bus stop
"Loud ain't sittin' right in my ribs."

He's got this idea in his head that god can't save his soul
that god is just a concept
that god can only be found in the crease of a bible spine but

OH,  MY GOD
I LOVE THAT BOY.

It's like when you lean on a piece of wet newspaper and the text imprints on your skin except,
there are no words -
just memories
and they are inked on the inside of my veins like

remember the other week when you were sleeping in my bed and the sun peeked through my curtains and made your eyes flutter?

That's the front page headline.
That's why I believe in absolute perfection
that's how I know beauty isn't just a concept
because I found god in the crease of your spine that morning.

I want every Sunday to feel that holy.

You are a cathedral pointing your spire to the sky saying
"KIRSTY, WHAT CONSTELLATION IS THAT?"
and my eyes search for
ursamajorursaminororionsiriussagittariuspisces-
I CAN'T FIND ANY OF THEM.
How can I align the stars when I have drawn more beautiful alignments
between the freckles on your skin
?

I kept telling you to be quiet until I pulled up your shirt and read the first page of your ribs:

IN THE BEGINNING,
GOD CREATED NOISE.
 Oct 2015 pralay patra
Rapunzoll
she slides her slender
white fingers down the
branches of his spine

her eyes melted like
glaciers and lips as soft
as freshly fallen snow

skin lustful, but heart
unforgiving, exhaling
his every intention

she is autumn in his
palms, her trees bare,
the leaves rust fallen

flashing indifference,
thoughts plucked in
shades of violent rose
© copyright
 Oct 2015 pralay patra
epictails
The very worst of demons are the ones that can't be destroyed because they are a part of you
Happy world mental health day for those of us who are deep in pain.
 Oct 2015 pralay patra
maxine
A poem is a wound, turned to words.
2 am thoughts
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