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Stephen Peters Jul 2016
All roads given, and I took the shortest.
With each step lessened, one more second
Could be granted to my resting joy:
A contempt existence riskless to the pushing wind.

Only, when looking behind from the alley vantage,
Points can be seen where decisions deemed
Correct at the crossings, a straightforward
Mind decides to never turn.

This is a consequence only in hindsight is learned.
I've had much time to observe this as my road,
The shortest road, has been nearing it's end.
And as I lay myself upon the frigid brick,

I can no longer feel the wind.
Stephen Peters Aug 2016
ever burning, eternal flame,
you have taken my finite skies.
the embers leave only a name
for this vessel that holds no eyes.

forever fire, you're to blame!
heaven has fallen from its rise,
and given ground chance to reclaim
the life stolen by my demise!

never shall I lose the shame
of not ever exchanging goodbyes
with my only love, the dead dame
that my eternal flames despised.
Stephen Peters Aug 2019
Fragmented shards among the glass slate,
Vivid glimmers of the visceral,
Reflect fists as they scrape the surface.
The pain doesn't surprise them,
But the blood does.
In translucent cells staring back
Are tears falling from abyssal eyes.
They never would have noticed.
Stephen Peters Jul 2016
A reflection,
When looked through eyes of peer infection,
Is nothing more than skin complexion.
But if given the chance of disconnection,
A mind free from body will find direction.
Follow it, and discover your unique perfection.
Stephen Peters Nov 2018
To follow cemented roles
And fill the passage tightly
Brings forth hollow memories.

Affixed in your shallow holes,
I notice you stepped lightly
Through the smouldering embers.

What is found in dying coals
Too deterred to burn brightly
But a warmth not remembered?

Now this trail the frost controls.
One paved, no doubt, contritely
By ambition dismembered.

It sulks here between the elements.
Why didn't you turn around?
Stephen Peters Jul 2016
Sentient catastrophe,
Can't you see that you've broken me?

The joy received from wicked twists
Have drained all marrow from my wrists
And soon I'll just be skin and bone,
Paralysed by paths you alone condone.

Puppet master, I have no choice
But to repress my emotions,
Since you gave no chord that gives me voice.

Is this what you wished? A hollow life in motion
Unable to rebel against your pulling strings?
Is it because you know what your intention brings?

Thread barer, am I ever free?
Is there ever a loosened grip
That grants my moves identity?

No, like a whip you keep on cracking away,
Tapping into my spine as you lead astray
My standing vessel that has already died.
So to my internal hope, my hands are tied.
Stephen Peters Aug 2016
With a hushed tone,
You whisper humming lies
To sooth my bones,
Yet questions still arise.

Why is it that you watch your jaw?
Where only truth laid impression,
You pressure me with your "perfection"
For what, hope that I'll remove my bra?

Open your mouth wretch, scatter the hornets,
And hope for that one ignorant, *****
Woman to become pierced by your stingers.
I hope for her sake your poison lingers.
Stephen Peters Jul 2016
We are a vessel apart.
Our arms outstretched take shape,
Yet our fingers do not touch.
A circular pit holds our cells together.
That which carries our memories and burdens
Has traveled in our embrace
Like death on our backs.
In this vessel, we carry what our heart lacks.

Yet one can assume a pumping rot is not a heart.
Selfishness cancels the light and air like a drape,
And suddenly this vessel is our special crutch.
We lean to it ever so gently, as would a feather,
But just enough where we know for certain
Our lives have become misplaced.
We stand here alone, still, waiting to matter,
Hoping for the day our vessel will shatter.
Stephen Peters Jul 2016
Do you think me a fool?
Have I given you reason to think I drool
Upon my own ignorance as some lowly
Uneducated boy? Let me speak to you slowly;
I know how hard it is for you to comprehend
Spoken lines and get said words to transcend
Further past your own self reputations.
So from now on I will speak in simple communications:

I know of your affair
With him, the ******, the one who shares lust's glare
With you, the fuckee, the one who gives a tease
And tantalizes to alleys where you sit on knees
Then lick his **** to sip its corrupt happiness.
You enjoy it don't you, this ravenous
Savagery? I do not blame you, fuckee,
A ***** thinks nothing better of herself besides good *****.

— The End —