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Live. Die. Repeat.

And leave behind the ones you love.

Live. Die. Repeat

Release your soul to soar above.

Live. Die. Repeat.

You gave it your best try.

Live. Die. Repeat.

Just please let me say “goodbye .”

Live. Die. Repeat…
Strive ..
Set up standards
Earn gold
Glorify the empty space
With hope
Transition from a seed
Into a rose ,
Queen stand tall upon
Her thrown
Ruler but rather
Misunderstood
Kingdom comes upon the envy
Fights back with horns
Consolidate the negative, concurs her thrown .
A mind over matter is no matter of time .
Grid the world , a journey for  treasured riches .

No rules or enemies can manifest the energy of a strictly striving soul.
I wrote this feeling anticipated and intrigued of what tomorrow has to bring. 5/15/2015 @8:35pm
Dry skin,
****** nose,
cracked lip,
bruised knuckles.

Shattered vase,
empty bottle,
hair ties,
leather belt.

Closed eyes,
stinging palm,
sore cheek,
***** breath.

One word,
one thought,
one plea:
*Stop.
I cannot separate me from "we".
 Jun 2015 Shivendra Om
curlygirl
If each tear is an apology
then i'm infinitely sorry
 Jun 2015 Shivendra Om
SG Holter
Work gloves are for winter.
It's time to grow thick skin
In our palms;
Red drops on white wood

Are sure signs of summer.
Soon splinters reach no
Nerves, knees become insensitive
To gravel and roof tile roughness

As our bodies learn the annual
Lessons many hearts fail to
Learn in a
Lifetime.
 Jun 2015 Shivendra Om
Ata
Death
 Jun 2015 Shivendra Om
Ata
The crust of thick memories
crumbles into pure essences
nourishing all that is
 Jun 2015 Shivendra Om
Rose
Maybe we can go back
Try undoing the past
Where is the thrill of
Anticipation?

In the last grade of
Elementary
They allowed us
To sign our
Virginal names in
Blueorblack ink
I was ten, I
Had already written
My script then
I did it in
Permanent pen

There was no time to erase

Mother wasn't excitable
some days, she was
She tore up my script
My script after script
Every idea
To her
Just ****

And I'd begin
Again in pen
And then it just ends.
 Jun 2015 Shivendra Om
SG Holter
Body hurts from last night's wine and
This morning's lifting.
Hands shake, sounds of construction
Like an insane symphony of
Unsilence.

My limbs are the fingers of a clenched
Fist around the hope that
The hours may grow wings.
The city, a snail outside
The construction site fence.

We're both prisoners under a
Sky that's waiting to downpour,
Giving each other nervous looks
Through iron bars, smiling
Unwillingly with tears in our eyes,

To immitate consolement.
Today, a line has been drawn between
The world and its enemy,
Of which I'm on the wrong side.
This is how I die;

A drowned flower.
A bleeding scar. An
Exposed nerve in the rain.
At least I have the wine.
Without it, I'd never get this thirsty.
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