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People keep pulling faces, but I never see the smiles,
Neck down, **** empty bank account,  Because we're always stuck in these isles,  
Next, drown, one bottle down, regrets found,
Adding depth to piles,

I tried,
We get hung up by the ropes they pull,
Left to dry,
Like these tobacco leaves,  
I smoked one down to the bone in a cemetery,
While the cremated ashes drifted off into the breeze,
Often like my thoughts do,
I always stopped and paused to appease you,

I put the cigarette **** in my shoe instead of throwing where the dead slept,
Felt anxious my grandfather might visit,
Because we haven't met yet,
The possibility,
Thinner than the ice in my freezer tray,
Remember the lies?
But i wasnt any better with the ones I used to say, in fact worse,
Sometimes mirrors are all that keep you thinking you're alive these days,
This one is called, Graveyard Curse,
Its all he say she say.
Half the day wasted in dreams,
Fines to pay,
Night spent looking for sense, it seems,
Everything has changed but routine is the same,
Late at night on my way home
Dogs bark like guys act out dominance, adding depth and tone,
Egos seem bottomless,
Time lapse of mishaps,
Right and wrong, lost deep in my sub conscious,
Write all night long, streets full of alcoholics,
As they stumble past,
In the parks echo’s of humble laughs,

These are,
Shark infested waters,
Most decent fish in the sea have already been hooked,
Some controlling like borders,
It's been more than twice since I've looked,
Frogger got squashed on the road
Tried to cut the corners,

Lead dagger pierces my mind,
Thoughts spill out like the blood of a tragedy,
Snap back to life,
Junkies stabbing at my reality,
Notes over my apathy for change,
I drop words like a rock off a balcony,
Needles in the back lanes,
Wine casks lay, as empty as my wallet,
Real hunger, no games,
On the search for dollars,
But don't want to be locked in chains,
And living in the complete squalor.
**** studying.
to hell with it.
this isn't a haiku.

**** it.
 Mar 2014 Ryan Topez
krissindica
Three in the morning, I know you're *****
On schedule beggin me to forni-
Cate, fellatiate, make a grown man *******
I guess I should elaborate...

But first aren't you a little to old
to be so uncontrol-
Able
I'm too smart for this ****
But happily your little *****

And I know
That you
Never mean a word you say
Knowing I eat your ******* up any day
Anyway...
I've pulled up in your driveway...

Waiting for you to
Break my heart, turn me into a ****-
sapian, reptilian, nymphomanian  
A ****** up, stockholm syndrome alien  
Tonight I think I'm stayin
Over

Pull my hair to and fro
Play me like a puppet show
The amount of pain I undergo
I guess I kinda like it though...
But that was a long time ago
But it really wasn't that long ago
Our monthly reunion you know?
Goin on three and a half years or so

What a shame
That I continue to rinse, repeat
A let it happen all over again

And It's okay to be scared
Unprepared
When
You let it
Happen all over again

Every now and then
Rinse, repeat and let it happen all over again
Written by twenty year old me...
 Mar 2014 Ryan Topez
Abellakai
I know it's wrong to love the wicked
but when you lit that cigarette,
memories of poison lingered in my nostrils.
My poison was stripped away from me,
when I realized that,
although smoking and drinking masked my negligence,
I was never a friend to you.
And I miss the days where the ones I loved,
the ones I called my friends,
would venture with me.
I spent the last five months of my life
with a lack of sobriety and compassion.
And I adored the addiction.
Now that things are settling back to the way
they were in the summertime,
I have become restless.
For you cannot resist the fuel of a wild heart.
They will crave and crave the things that are wrong for them.
So maybe that's why I ended it.
Because I kept running away from you.
From my responsibilities and
as it festered in the dirt,
I grew daisies out of my cold corpse.
For I felt alive.
Just for a ******* moment, I felt alive again.
So here I am,
lying on the bathroom floor in your arms.
Scared to let you go, reluctant to come back.
Stuck in a purgatory between love and loathing,
desiring the poison I fed myself
to keep me from dying.
 Mar 2014 Ryan Topez
Wouter
This city breathes the blues
buried just under the skin
in the memory of cleaners
and slaughter

Here the gospel travels
from mouth to heart
and it offers comfort
as by-catch of the bottle

The center as a pacemaker
in an old and worn out body
is waiting for the final lines
from a song by Muddy Waters

"You ain't gonna trouble
poor me, anymore "
My translation fronm the Dutch
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