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 May 2013 Sarah Munro
Mike Hauser
Who's always taking pictures
Who's always on the scene
Snaps the Stars at their worst
Bikini thunder thighs with cottage cheese

He catches Stars out jogging
When they are a sweaty slimy mess
That is when this Paparazzi
Is at his photogenic best

He finds them out to dinner
Makes sure their forks are full
So he can catch them stuffing face
Halle Berry...you've just been schooled

The Stars have no idea how much
It is that they need him
To keep their names in the press
And their butts down at the gym

He loves the feeling that he gets
Adrenalin rush that keeps him high
Never is a job complete
Till he can make a Big Star cry

There's not a project that he won't take on
The one in which he is most proud
The pic of the President having lunch with the aliens
That photo shop was his brain child

So give it up for the Paparazzi
Who entertains in the grocery isle every day
Giving us all the latest scoop
On who is and isn't gay

Yes, without the Paparazzi
We would never be in the know
And now knowing all that Hollywood does
We can be thankful for a life that's dull!
All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"
No one else's lips
Matched and
Unmatched
And matched
Like ours did.

Dripping in sweet honeycomb,
They always stuck together.
Mind racing with my feet below me
pacing back and forth
Focus out of control,
Paranoia creeping in.
My flaws, my mistakes, my past
Like a jacket that will never leave my back.
Do they know, about my faults, have they seen who I really am.
What is all of it, when I am gone
The thoughts will escape our heads
And our souls will be taken far away.
So I'm leaving these old mistakes,
For somethin so great.
Hope.
The most beautiful woman we both
know
is Tequila.

She wears a glass dress
that clashes when she dances
Makes a high pitch

ringing noise.
Tip her over.
Spill her

out.
Tip her back and drink
in her life.

Then stay the night
until I can taste death and
then become born again.

Is it a sunrise in my room?
Or is that where the sun sets?
I dont know, so

you tell me.
My head is pounding
from this light. The

way it seeps into my brain and
tries to stay.
Push it out.

I want to run away.
Let's get on a plane and fly
to Paris.

Let's just go.
Forget the world
and leave the Greeks and

fugitive slaves behind. Let
them worry about
themselves.

Birds migrate
to a place that's warm and
inviting.

A giant bird of metal
descends into heaven.
A heaven on fire.

We can walk the streets.
The ones I want to dance on,
under the stars blanketed in

the dark sky.
The stars.
My stars. French Stars.

Do you ever just laugh at
them? The stars?
It's silly to think they go on

for eternity.
I just saw one fall.
Like your hand to mine.

Collide with the earth.
Defective star.
Ignorant mass of Sun.

Find me a place to sleep for the night.
Snow white
minus six.

The wasted sun will wake my wasted
eyes.
Then we can walk.

Till the ends of the earth begin
and we can stay in
the beloved

city so
long we could stand
at each painting at the

Louvre
for hours.
Listen to me as I attempt to

be a philosopher.
Look at me like you're listening,
and listening to Mona Lisa.

Then we can go dancing.
Outside.
And maybe we wont be cold.

This time.
And maybe,
just maybe,

it will rain.
I wonder if you kept this.
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