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Invisibility is a lonely place.
Quiet, peaceful, but empty.
There are others here, too.
But we're to afraid to speak.
for fear our voices will shatter glass of silence
that shields us from the rest of the world.
A desire rests deep in our hands
to strike the pane, color our knuckles with something
as real as blood and pain.
To see life in liquid form,
coursing down our pale skin,
grasp a hand from the other side
to be lost in deep words
with a like minded companion.
Traipsing down the deer trails of thought
while the leaves of dreams
fall at our feet.
Love me like the snowflakes
Falling on top of the trees
Love me like the cool calm
Winter breeze
Love me like the butterflies
That float around like bees
Love me like the rivers
Love me like the sea
But most importantly
Love me for me
 Mar 2014 samantha neal
Violet
tonight i think
i'll just fall asleep
thinking of you
and let your voice
blend into my dreams
i miss you, darling
Whispering fingers
on skin
as the nerves
reach up
to be electrified
by soft slight fingers,

feeling lingers
in those places,

tiny impulses,
nails like
ghosts of ice dancers
on the surface
sliding up legs
then ribcage
over shoulders
to excite the back
then bums of each other,
reciprocating affection,

two touching
lovers;

Sensation
Traced through skin…

a flowing river.
 Feb 2014 samantha neal
daringly
i restlessly lay in bed
while my mind wanders elsewhere
the thoughts of you
and the hope for us
builds up in my head,
they keep me awake
like congestion
but just getting stronger
as time passes by
In hiding
we cry
for a release
from the mundane,
with visions of greener grasses,
a better other side
beyond the thin veil
& with our remote dreams
tasting like anxiety
stuck in a throats,
we wrote poetry.
 Feb 2014 samantha neal
Kay P
Life is beautiful
they tell the
generation born of
depression and
anxiety.

Life is beautiful
with higher percentages
of suicide than
highschool
drop outs

Life is beautiful
to the “me” generation
called self centered
because of
selfies

Life is beautiful
to the highest
price of living
in American
history

Life is beautiful
to the generation
that romanticizes
death.
February 17th, 2014
there was beauty, love, fire, stillness, and i gave it all to you
you put both of your hands around my neck
had a grip on me like your favorite coffee mug
mouths never moved, just trembled

when you went home, your "i love you" started sounding like an apology
now every car crash sounds like the last time i heard you say my name
a poem about distance
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