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 Dec 2019 CasiDia
Betty H
 Dec 2019 CasiDia
Betty H
Threadbare hands
dark blue veins protrude
across arms, elbow to finger
swollen skin hides gold wedding band
knuckles poke out, like small stones
rigidity stifles writing

Years a poet
born to scribe
he rocks
in his worn cane chair
his mind travels
shrewd and clever
he uses his husky voice
to tell his tales

roadmap of life
alone,no one heeds
naps away the bleary afternoons
hands crisscrossed
 Dec 2019 CasiDia
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.
"keep your eyes closed love. sometimes all you have to listen is to what the sound of the waves tells you to do"

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
 Dec 2019 CasiDia
 Dec 2019 CasiDia
*      *      *      and you are      *      *            
   *           *  just­ like the moon *      *          
*        *   *      -----so, alone-----      *      *    
   *      *    but you shine bright  *      *    
*     *            at the darkest  *      *     *
   *      *      *     of times  *      *      *      *    
*           *           *           *         *          
 Dec 2015 CasiDia
Kris Millner
Stoicism rules impetuously and as resonating as a thunder clap, self-preservation long fallen through and this cocksure apathy has assured me I’m justified in standing idly by. Time pools around my ankles like melted crayons, each individual tainted to the same docile brown you’ll find reflected meager and muddy in my eyes. My perceptions are skewed, I’ve accepted it. Somewhat idiosyncratic but I’ve learned to love living in and among my restless thoughts and delusions and I might be lost without them after all. I still find myself surprised that people notice I exist but if they stopped could I continue to claim this as an existence? The Chicken or The Egg; I try not to give it too much thought but that’s laughable because despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones I can’t seem to satisfy the florescence permanently burning behind my eyes.
 Dec 2015 CasiDia
fireplaces are made to keep houses warm but mine only filled my house with smoke and coated my clothes with ash. sweaters that look soft are actually itchy when you put them on, and there is such a thing as coffee with too much cream and sugar, i’ve tasted it myself and that sickly sweetness wouldn’t leave my tongue for months and months and months until the flowers started blooming again. thanksgiving is a holiday without presents. and when i was using my fists to punch holes in the walls i realized that rooms aren’t actually rooms they’re just four walls filled with air, and that i need something to ground me.
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