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 Aug 2014 skyyy
the ***** tastes like
an untamed firework
which attacks my throat
but I like it

the ***** feels like
the reason behind
all the poems I wrote
but I need it

the ***** is like
glitter set in my veins
which helps me to float
and I love it

the ***** is you
and until you were gone
I just didn't know
we should not mix
 Aug 2014 skyyy
love is...
 Aug 2014 skyyy
love is wishing the mosquitos would bite me instead of you
 Mar 2014 skyyy
 Mar 2014 skyyy
Walking through the sleep city
Brick buildings towering above me
Vines snaking along the walls

The cold wind clawing at my pale cheeks
Catching my long hair, tossing it out behind me
It sinks into the skin at the base of my neck
Shivers vibrating through my tired bones

Along the curve of my crimson lips
I breath in the fridged air, into my hallow flower lungs
Freezing me completley

Shoes echoing on the cobblestone walk
Passing small caf├ęs
Young couples who smile and laugh
Serenading each other in soft voices
They are so inlove
Asolutley beautiful
What ever it may be
Quebec City,
Never have I ever fell so inlove with a city
 Mar 2014 skyyy
Ben Skross
I wish i could lie in bed to smoke, and
pretend that all the bad feelings
are floating away with the grey cloud
evaporating into the air along with the other
things i shouldnt worry about
this is lame
 Mar 2014 skyyy
 Mar 2014 skyyy
Its been almost a year since I last saw you
I've tried moving on
Every boy I see I compare to you
Will I ever stop loving you
even though you never cared about me
can I ever get over the guy I spent three years of my life
for you
to love me back
 Mar 2014 skyyy
Colin E Havard
This fire-trap, my home:
Elongated shoebox, or coffin
Awaiting the crematorium;
An arsonists dream
And a fire-fighter's nightmare;
Cluttered with books, boxes, plastics -
If it's flammable, it's crowding the hallway.
To seal the deal - and all who dwell within -
Security-conscious Landlord's
Barred all the windows, leaving one exit,
Presuming, when the conflagration comes,
That anyone can run the gauntlet
Of an infernal tunnel -
An exit, true, but not for this life.
Of course, the smoke alarm installed
Could've provided warning, had it not died
At the end of a cricket bat
Because of its sensitivity to toast.
And the Batsman, sleeping on the couch
In a drunken stupor, loaded
With cigarettes, lighters and matches,
And a penchant for late-night chips,
Could spark the trap that dooms us all.
The Missing Link - Gaia's Boy Toy
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