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 Mar 2012 Reza Mahani
mûre
Do the pleases lose their poignance?
Do the thank yous become less fervent
Like a back-of-the-rack Hallmark card?
Because I use them so often their meaning has
stretched and waned before us?

This is not who I was meant to be.

Best friends, when drowning
in the throes of panic and desperation
will cling and scrabble and climb
In a mortal wrestle until both succumb.

I want to give you the world.
             - Not fill your lungs with water.

I want to raise you on my shoulders.
             - And I can't even stand up.

I would pay any price for you.
             - I can't afford an apple.

I want to shout how much I love you.
             - All I do is beg.

I'm more grateful that you can ever know.
             -  Still I deserve salt poured on me.

You are saving my life.
             - One day I WILL save yours.
These pages creak with old, forgotten memories.
Memories of times past
Vague, wispy in recognition
some so mentally far away
I must reach, stretch way out
past my comfort zone
just to tap them with my fingertips
But - - -

What is my comfort zone?
Definitely not this house.
Where failure and guilt follow
like dutiful yet annoying dogs
No, I'm definitely not comfortable here.
Not my school, either.
School, where morons manage
better grades than I;
where sinking in depression
is taboo, more than sleeping around
comfort does not lie there, either.
Not even in my own self any longer
does comfort rest
my mind swirls
with doubt, cloudy thoughts, recklessness
all crammed much too tight
for comfort to be at home there.

So... if I can't figure out my comfort zone...
will I be without rest forever?
from the pages of my own personal diary.
 Jun 2011 Reza Mahani
PH
body spray
 Jun 2011 Reza Mahani
PH
i woke at about noon today
and opened a window to air out the room-
it smelled like a ***** girl that i don't
very much care for.
and i put on some clothes and
left and closed the door behind me.
like it, hate it, or indifferent, leave me a little reaction and i'll be sure to come check out your work!
 May 2011 Reza Mahani
Emma Liang
life is not easy to describe
it's not clean-cut, simple -
kurk, lerp, vort.

It has plerbacusaling turns, and wild zarbetroken trails
misleading and confusing and grumpling things, you know.

it's more like
yarpeluztyakopordowakenadle
or something
like that.
It has proven its point.
The barrier between you and I.
While the ceramic tile presses
against my feet.  In a distance,
there the plastic siding hugs
the brick foundation. As shrubbery
is not yet green nor my pockets.
Inside, the heat sweats the yellow
stained-sheet rock. Into the pit
of my stomach, causing a burning
sensation. This is a four by four.
As my legs walk around in a circle.
I think... Where found,  wood chippings
and bread crumbs that hover over
a Persian rug. The pattern of sunflowers.
Like the ones on out-dated place mats.
And I sat, rubbing away the goo from
underneath each one. While the air
thickened, regal like a stiff neck. I wait
for a sign to say when. Most of the cheap
clothing has been packed. They are ready
to move. They are dancing. Across the floor
of sunflower dreams.
By Jessica Hughes
Protected By MyFreeCopyrights
©2010-2011

To read more visit my blog @ http://thegapingsky.blogspot.com , thanks
 May 2011 Reza Mahani
Alexa Sz
What happens?
When you are done with a dream?
Does it disappear?
Does it fade?
does it wander off?
or go back where it came?

How come you don't remember
those sweet sun beams?

How come you can't enter
the darkest of dreams?

What happens to dreams
once you awake?
Where do they go to?
Will they ever return?
On the idle hill of summer,
  Sleepy with the flow of streams,
Far I hear the steady drummer
  Drumming like a noise in dreams.
Far and near and low and louder
  On the roads of earth go by,
Dear to friends and food for powder,
  Soldiers marching, all to die.
East and west on fields forgotten
  Bleach the bones of comrades slain,
Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
  None that go return again.
Far the calling bugles hollo,
  High the screaming fife replies,
Gay the files of scarlet follow:
  Woman bore me, I will rise.
so I thought I might tell you
that my left currently bears
a disappearing crescent of ouch
and three diamonds

or that my right
tends to drift
to the back of my neck
when I'm trying to remember

or that they both stop and start
over these letters
right now,

not sure what to say.
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