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Christopher Jul 16
Even though a lion is trained to keep it's mouth shut, it doesn't mean it can't learn around it.
Stardust has seen and tried to stop me clean of these things that could be.

That blackhole won't solve anything,
Neither will exploding or imploding myself to wits ends.
So let me brief you just this once so listen good and listen well.

Like the lion, find your pack.
No matter how much the storms rain down hell, find a way to dispel.
Write these records, create a contraption to annoy the rains away.
But if there's nothing you can do, and trust me I know cause it's something we've all been through, go to shelter and let the damage be done.

Tomorrow we begin a new, and work around it with your crew, they may know what to do.
It's an experience we all handle.
It's a long life battle.

But at least we're not alone.
If you ever need to talk, comment me and we can handle it. This life is hard be we can beat it together.
The mug stains leapfrog a linoleum asphalt countertop, sunbathing in the breakfast nook.
A magazine proofreads a hole in a bagel. Scanning for clues to the whereabouts
Of a Jewish heart. Beads of Oolong tea archipelago from a resting kettle
All the way to the 'good ' China. A cup on a pearl, laying flat… ear to the ground.
Listening to the stories only Formica can tell. Deciphering the steam
Rising from a steep. Curling whiskers into omens, embroidered upon a shaft of light
Heaven sent. Postage dew. Gilding quaint luxuries, tucked in a cozy roost
Smelling of oak musk and slow roasted dreams, evaporating before memory may lay claim
To the riddles of Morpheus. There’s an aire of Return.  
It molts in the bacon fats hovering in the strata unique to kitchen islands lousy with active volcanoes that shuffle in stocking feet and terry cloth bathrobes. Restless and foggy minded.
Looking for the keys. And...
Chewing a thumbnail. Staring out the window. Where there used to be a car in the driveway. But the officer flagged a taxi. Explains the migraine, like a Vulcan; stoically flipping switches in a fuse box wired to a vague recollection of a soiree.
All the while holding a pitchfork and today's horoscope.
For irony and street cred.

{ But out of cream cheese. }

Concurrently... This part of the house still has the rustic naivete of a celibate beatnik picking teeth with a signature pen presenting an Hawaiian girl with a vanishing skirt; blinking in and out of Vaud-villainy, like Erwin Schrödinger’s Cat. A kind of hole in a barge with an ornate cubby; loitering with sugar cubes and a bendy plastic fern.
Like the foyer to a room, still under construction.
      A busy little metaphor, lounging around the east wing of a humble abode… like news clippings in a mason jar… it’s superfluous handle threading a ceramic eye.
Like a stainless steel joke under a refrigerator magnet, pinned to a plate in your forehead. As any lamp-shade with ambition.  
      Playing to a rough Cloud, hung over an ashtray; that has seen Better Days - envy the baroque occlusion of monotony and routine, merging a hangover - into morning traffic. Replete with modest gains.
And Horizons that stab bleary eyes that would know a gypsy
By the weight of her purse…
     When the day begins, it gains a foothold by the spine of an overdue book, reclining adjacent runcible spoons and antique kitche. As a bathroom light squeaks between a door and a frame.
As ancillary and precise as a beacon for a blindfold.

Like turpentine palming a brick. And Wagner.
This castle of clay is all that remains
Of my empire of sand and glass
I can't explain this unwavering pain
Since you went away
My hands hurt.
The constant migraine of your lost face
Is with me to this day

My hands hurt.
They keep me awake
I cannot take a moment's rest
I must remain, to defend.
Here I stand, in the sand
Against the rain
Against the pain you have left
My castle of clay is all that remains
And I will try to save it to my last breath

My hands hurt.
In the end
All that you spent
Was the love that I freely gave
Surrounded by the dead
I am spent
Like the soldiers you did not send
Save me now,
Don't let me drown here in the rain.

My hands hurt.
The scars you left
Have never changed
It's still an open wound
Standing here defending my land
Protecting my empire of dirt.
Defending my castles of sand and glass.
Still here rebuilding my empire of dirt.
Until the day
(Oh, that blessed day!)
Until the day that my hands
Will no longer
Hurt.
I was inspired by one of the scenes in Logan and by the comic Old Man Logan to create a little diddy that might be Wolverine's anthem as he grows older and the number he's lost increases. Shout out to Hugh Jackman for being such an incredible Wolverine, you will always be my favorite!!
Justus Aug 11
Trying to keep up with a woman’s mood is to catch lightning with your bare hands
Even if a man were to make that godly catch, his hands would have melted away before he could celebrate with the migraine
You will never see me outside in the stormy night
Renhui 7d
"Take everything off."
Including my panties?
Puzzled, I did as told,
Waiting at the bed
For a doc.

In comes a young man.
"I am Doctor Zeus.
I hear you had a car accident.
How do you feel?"

"My left brains hurt.
My right body's weak.
I feel shaken up,
Yet nothing broke."

"Hold my two fingers tight.
Press into my palms.
Look up left, middle, right.
I'll knock your knees slight.

"I will get you
Pain medicine for your migraine;
IV to rid inflammation;
CAT scan to check your brains;
You may have had a stroke."
Dr. Zeus pronounced.

A stroke?
CAT scan, internal bleeding?
This must be a joke.
No no no!

"You will feel worse tomorrow.
Your whole body will ache --
Head, shoulders, back and legs.
That is what accidents do."

No.
I do not want a CAT Scan.
No.
I do not have want an IV
Yes, I am difficult.

"I will get a stroke specialist to talk to you."

I tried to call my sister --
Who works at a clinic,
And texted a nurse friend
To get some clues.

In comes a nurse
With little packages of instruments.
“I will get you IV
And some pills for your headache.”

No. I want none of these.
“If you do not want any of these,
Then why are you in the hospital?”

I was dumbfounded.
Why in the hospital?

A few minutes later,
A clerk rolled in a computer,
Asked me to sign electronic papers
And pay 200 dollars.
While I was still on the patient bed!

The next day I went to my acupuncturist
After one session all turned well,
“The needles smoothed out the jilt
      your body went through,” she said.
I walked into a church today,
One I wanted to visit for days,
I passed by it, saw the huge doors open
Inviting me in daily, but I just didn’t go in.

I’m a Hindu by religion,
Indian by birth,
I have an older sister,
My mom and my dad obviously.

Why am I telling you this?
Well because I’m everything but
Happy, calm and sorted,
Just angry, irritated and anxious.

They fight, my mom and dad,
They love each other, or maybe they don’t,
But they fight and argue,
They don’t hold back on concern either.

They talk a lot, my sister and him,
The guy she’s seeing but not dating,
The guy she’s serious about but hasn’t met,
She’s always on the phone, sharing every bit of her life.

I entered the church,
Felt nothing, felt the same as usual,
No excitement, disappointment, nothing,
Temples don’t help either.

I love my family, they love me back,
They care and support me, a lot!
I don’t want it most of the times,
It both keeps me alive and suffocates me.

They are always there,
Standing right by me,
If not in person, then by spirit,
Always a call away.

I talk to them every day, thrice,
Twice at least, message my whereabouts,
It’s a habit, a want, a need
To let them know everything about me.

They are fighting now,
I got an email this time,
Not a phone call, nor message,
Mom lied, that she’s got her migraine.

Dad’s left the family WhatsApp group,
Blamed it on the work stress,
But I know better, we all do,
I may be the youngest, but I’m 20.

My sister’s fed up with me,
Well she’s not the only one,
I shout, scream, screech rudely,
Loudly, with no sane reason.

I know I need help,
We all do, for anger,
To love and feel loved,
But it’s never going to happen.

I am a psychology student,
I want to let the world know,
With my research that depression and anxiety,
Can’t be bet with medicines nor by expressing.

My sister’s a Human Rights student,
Who wants to help people,
Support and care for them,
You can’t, nothing will end human suffering.

We are the sole cause of it,
Human suffering, the ones with fuel,
The ones with the extinguisher,
Yet, each time we choose poorly.

My family is broken, screwed up,
It’s surviving on a thin string,
But it won’t break, ever,
We’ll all just drift apart.
Tyler  Sep 2
Migraine
Tyler Sep 2
We’re the same in all the things that matter
Different in the things that don’t
And when I hope to never see you inject me with dishonesty
Or poison me with doubt
It’s okay, my love
I know you won’t.
You’re in my head
And in my aura
You’re glowing like a star
You make me heavy as lead.
I told you my veins glow in the dark
That my cerebral fluid is golden, just like your brain
And I knew you understood, that you felt the agony and bliss
Darling, you’re my migraine.

— The End —