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 Sep 2013 Robb
MITCHELL
QP
 Sep 2013 Robb
MITCHELL
QP
Right from the dungeons of summer
I'm a product of your betrayal
And the me you know died
Never again to be revived
For in this world of crime
I've come into my own
Learned the way of the streets
And all of its weirdos and creeps
At least to me they don't lie
But I'll be shot dead
And be remembered as a chalk outline
Before you ever hear me apologize.
 Sep 2013 Robb
Autumn Shayse
there is so much guilt for
the dead,
as though to not pity them,
is to erase them completely.

we fear for
the dead,
as though they are lost
and afraid,
as though without our
dulcet whisperings,
they shall be alone in the dark;

I think that we should smile for
the dead,
after all,
they probably do not care
as they are too busy
decaying,
as we're wilting.
inspired by Christina Rossetti's 'when I am dead, my dearest'  and people's ridiculous obsession with informing everyone how much they loved someone who died, when in fact they didn't even know them.
 Sep 2013 Robb
Lily Gabrielle
I slept through the fall
And tripped through the spring
On pebbles that grew wings
and flew to my window
Shattering glass
between my arms and your past
But the wind blew again,
Packed my door shut with snow
Until all there was to do
Was get high
And pray your hands
made it back to mine.
 Sep 2013 Robb
Otter
In The Weeds
 Sep 2013 Robb
Otter
Looking back at it all
I regret many things I've done
But there's no rewind button, no re-do
This deal is take one or take none.

Get busy living or get busy dying
is a mantra oftentimes said.
But, really, what is living
if there aren't any close calls with death?

What's the point of climbing to the top
if there's no risk that you might fall?
And what is really dying
if you haven't lived at all?
 Sep 2013 Robb
Lily Gabrielle
12:15
 Sep 2013 Robb
Lily Gabrielle
Each streak of sun
Is softer then the next
Except for your ray,
The brightest on this side of the triangle.

Twenty six layers of skin on the mountain;
One for each mile between
Your bare feet
And the fire by my shore.

The core of tectonic foundation swallowed words like
I love you
Until you guided my lips
To a mutual spine.

My favorite vertibre is your silent laugh,
How you have to be on top when we hold hands,
The way you catch each shooting star at exactly the right time to whisper
I love you
So it sounds like you mean it.
 Sep 2013 Robb
Showman
Weed Bag
 Sep 2013 Robb
Showman
He opens his Star Wars: A New Hope lunch box
Inside a hippies dream.
**** in baggies that have the superman symbol
And Batman symbol on them
Tabs of LSD
And molly.
Hunter S. Thompson would have a field day

©Gambit '13
 Sep 2013 Robb
Lily Gabrielle
I can't say I said to stop
but I never asked for this to start.
It was a Monday,
A cold one when you first held my hand.
Well not my hand, my hips actually,
but it may as well be the same thing at this point.
I told you not to fall and I swear to god I meant it,
But anyway,
seasons change and nothing stops the wind from blowing.
It was the comfortable type of pain, you said,
the kind where you forget what it was like to breathe normal.
Somewhere along the way by the rocks or maybe even in a field,
I remembered why I loved you
And cried to each and every blade of grass because they'd never understand.
I pulled out clumps and chunks until all that was left was dirt,
And when I realized what was gone I sat blisterung in the sun,
threading each and every blade back into place.
The difference was,
no one was waiting on my side with a needle to repair the damage,
Because I crossed the bridge to you.
You didn't play the part
You let the part play you and ego swallowed you whole.
You were free to go at any time,
I never made you stay
And the word I love you sounded tainted coming from hands that pressed my body to the ground.
Nothing bites as hard as reality
Except you, according to my neck at least.
I'm sorry we ever became lovers because since October the girl has changed but the moon has stayed the same.
And can I tell you something...
You never even ment a thing.
 Sep 2013 Robb
Lily Gabrielle
Wake up already.
I've been staring at the scratch on your neck since half past three.
You look strangely similar
To the sidewalk I've walked a million times before
But you're not cracked
Or rotted like my eye sockets.
If everybody knew why windshield wipers
Hide what keeps us writing love letters to boys we'll never meet,
Even weeds would look good in a garden.
The cold rusted my knee caps
And staining the carpet red
But it was worth it to hold your hand,
for a minute and 37 seconds.
There's a vase of flowers by the door
From a lover who didn't make the cut.
A cut on your shoulder
Leaves the fire burning blue.
Paper clips lined the ceiling
Of the California oak
By the edge of his bed.
Do it for yourself,
I swear to the moon I'll be grateful
No matter how long the line to heaven
Wraps around my wrists.
Under the sand trapped in your toes
I learned to choke on something other then the water
Bubbling my lungs to cobalt.
I'll flick every switch and touch you forever
If you teach me to love you back.
And if the desert could yell
As loud as my eyes
*You'd feel it too.
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