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  Mar 2015 rantipole
Alex McDaniel
Who was it that robbed you of your voice?

Who's slithery hand reached down your esophagus and tied your vocal cords in knots?

Who was it that locked up your soul?
Chiseling your emotions into solid stone.

Who was it that twisted the curves of your smile upside down?

Was it old man winter who painted sorrow in your eyes more accurately than Picasso?

Or was it an even older man, the creator, the man that rules everything? Was it he who told you not to be happy?

Ah I know,

how could I be so blind.

It must have been the imperfectly formed face staring back at you in mirror that's causing all this trouble.

It must have been me.
rantipole Mar 2015
i'll miss you till earthquakes
stop shaking the ground.
i'll miss you till rain clouds
stop flooding the town.
i'll miss you in silence
and miss you in screams.
i'll miss you as fire
engulfs all our dreams.
i'll miss laughing and crying
and holding you close.
i'll miss you when all
that remains is my ghost.
i'll miss you while lonesome,
waiting outside your door.
i'll miss you forever
and forever more.
i'll miss you my dearest,
i'm sorry to go.
i loathe my decision
but it must be so.
rantipole Feb 2015
my eyes open, sullenly.
not a movement from
my body,
but that of my left arm,
reaching out for
that awful device
that forces me
to comprehend
a drab reality.

tap to snooze

waking up from a dream
where every day isn’t
the same monotony,
and every class isn’t
the same anesthesia,
and every moment
isn’t enveloped
in the pain
of missing you.

tap to snooze

i lay here hoping
begging, even,
that this burden
of waking life will cease,
and that one day
i will cross over
to the sleep realm
and never again
will i need to
*tap to snooze
rantipole Feb 2015
letting go of you
would be like
confining myself
to a boat
in order to taste
the freedom
of the ocean.

and every day I'm
without you
would feel like swimming
to the surface
in a panic,
gasping for air
as your name
fills my lung
and drowns me.
rantipole Jan 2015
everything is bad and it's raining. i'm nauseous and i'm sleeping on a bed of nails tonight. icicles hang from the empty nest inside me. it's cold and birds don't like this type of weather. i'm not sad, i'm not much of anything. it's still raining and i think it will be for a while. just buy an umbrella they say. little do they know i have a collection of them. i buy them constantly just to tear holes in with my teeth. i just vomited again and everything is just as bad as it was before. there are a handful of drugs i could swallow with little smiley faces on them. i've learned to see smiling faces and look right through them. i can't leave this bed because there's shattered glass on the floor from every mirror i've ever looked in. everything is bad and it's raining.
rantipole Jan 2015
there is a voice inside my head
that tells of dreams and tells of dread.

thoughts of peace and thoughts of war
in which I’m rattled to my core.

the pain’s not real, I tell myself,
but it feels as though I’m in poor health.

a broken heart is not to blame,
instead my own eternal shame.

my soul’s been turned into a puddle;
the hands that hold it turned to funnels.

I feel and watch the water pour,
accumulating on the floor.

and there I sit, and there I shake,
while all my walls begin to quake.

within I feel I am not whole.
my mind must pay the final toll.
rantipole Jan 2015
I could hang myself
from the distance
between us.
can't you see
the rope burn
on my neck?
can't you hear
my desperation?

maybe it's not
the strangulation
I'm afraid of,
but instead
the idea
of breathing
without you.
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