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Describe fires in riverbottom
sand, and the cooking;
the cooking of hot dogs
spitted in whittled sticks
over flames of woodfire
with grease dropping in smoke
to brown and blacken
the salty hotdogs,
and the wine,
and the work on the railroad.

$275,000,000,000.00 in debt
says the Government
Two hundred and seventy five billion
dollars in debt
Like Unending
Heaven
And Unnumbered Sentient Beings
Who will be admitted -
Not-Numberable -
To the new Pair of Shoes
Of White Guru Fleece
O j o !
The Purple Paradise
 Dec 2016 Sebastian Macias
SZ
You can tell him the truth. Tell him that I'm tired of walking around at 3am in the winter because I want to feel something that's  as cold as my heart and I want to see roads that are as empty as I feel. Tell him that it is hard for me to find the motivation to get up every morning and put a smile on my face when half the time I'm trying to find the motivation to keep living. Tell him about the times I woke up in someone's bed, whose name I will never remember, because I just needed a distraction for the night. Tell him about all the ways I have tried to fill the void that is my heart but failed to do so. Tell him that no matter how many good days, or weeks, or even incredible days I have, I will never be able to escape this sadness because it lives inside of me and it is just waiting for the right moment to attack. Tell him that I'm having a very hard time grasping why the concept of mental stability is so foreign to me. Tell him that the only way I know to deal with my feelings is to run away from them. Tell him I am tired of everything. Tell him I love him. Tell him I am grateful for all that he's done for me. Tell him I want him to be done with me.
you are something akin to
a final shot of tequila on sunday night.
i wake up in the morning
push the covers off my body
and regret you.
****!
Sorry I didn't mean it.
****!
Don't worry we'll work out it.
****!
Stop dwelling there's nothing you can do about it.
****!
Well ****, would you stop saying it.
Well ****, I don't know where this came from.
written 7th June 2016
Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.

© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216
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