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I wasn't there with my body
when you were happy,
or walking in an evening rain,
I wasn't there with my eyes
to see the tears you shed
I wasn't there to feel your skin,
to see your eyes bloom at night.
I wasn't.

I wasn't there with the body
that would keep your feelings warm,
I wasn't with the arms
that would make your pain go.

I thought i was there in your soul,
a shade of sea,
a morning in the spring,
my words, I thought,
they'd make you feel
the same sunrise that's in my smile
whenever your voice speaks to me.

I hoped I was at least a dream,
a thought of yours at night,
a traveller in your mind,
a phrase,
a nonsense,
I hoped
I was one of your cigars,
your cup of tea,
your rest.

I thought
I hoped
In silence now I know
I wasn't with you
at all.
Some days when I wake up from a dream
I find it hard to be, what is me
and my mind drifts off into a surreal world
where it is hard to find what my conscious mind has to do with me
sometimes it's not even the way really feel
nor act, but my mind seams to pull it off
and that day that is me
but not maybe really the way I feel
other days my mind is reaching out
on all side, then goes off like nuclear bomb
and all hell breaks loose
then I hide under the blankets
and drift off to a surreal world
wake up and starts over again.
LoVe    P@ul    ***.
Print screen my whole being,
in the cadence of seasons changed.
Generation X's sweet heartbreak.
Strangers share the pain.
We walk the walk online,
nowadays,
in these times that are a changed.
Changing no more - subtly maybe.
The footfall of history stored,
in Google baby,
& terrabytes & ram.
A virus called.
And the rhyming stalled,
until;
Man made museums in nothing, but,
soldiered components,
smaller than the eye can see.
Nano moments,
lost in scrolled screens,
likes and comments,
compassion shared
around,
the world,
until forgotten;
fads
fade
away,
into familiarities.
Then we logged out of life,
and left reality behind smokescreens,
of PCs
HD ready, on blue days -
Blue Rays,
now smaller.
microsized.
Our brain waves microwaved.
Attention spans,
in the palm of our mouse shaped hands.
Say goodbye to the old days,
guilty as charged,
in
the strife of low battery life;
running out of charge.
had this concept inside me for a long time - still needs work x

Update - thanks for feedback on this - I've changed the title as the last one wasn't really pc.
Then I changed it back
X
I am the key to the lock in your house

You burned a hole in my heart
Where the arteries flow.
And the veins are
blocked
like gutter drains,
No one can pass -
through the Red Sea,
A no go area.
A hairline fracture into a million capillaries,
Split arteries to take each feeling individual to the tips of my skin.
Still covered beautiful
but a nails cuticles,
Impaled on a cross resembling a torso.
Hollow bones that play like xylophones
In the tombs of hidden organs that echo
&
resonate through the decay of a necrophiliacs playground.
Dislocated limbs swing round a rib cage,
Splinters shatter the skin revealing the droplets of blood that pour like rain and tears combined.
Twist past as they gloop through a cutlets spine.
Always on my mind,
always on my mind.
Cobwebs of memories,
Embedded in a decayed gut,
Dug up like skeletons in cemeteries to find the remedy or medicine to plug the bullet shaped holes you made in my heart.
Part of a six piece series I'm considering posting  over the following weeks inspired by the song climbing up the walls by Radiohead - a feeling that never left me.
1574

No ladder needs the bird but skies
To situate its wings,
Nor any leader’s grim baton
Arraigns it as it sings.
The implements of bliss are few—
As Jesus says of Him,
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the cherubim.
Start drinking,
push away all your family members,
spend a lot of time alone,
move somewhere far, far away from your friends
and the places you like;
spend a few hours a day
thinking about
all the things you've failed at.
And drink some more.
Start wearing more black,
learn to love your nightmares
and start hating yourself.
Forget about all the things you used to like,
all your hobbies,
listen to Pink Floyd or Nick Cave or
Nancy Sinatra’s Bang Bang,
Read Bukowski or Ginsbersg or Emily Dickinson
and drink some more.
Cry.
Cry every day.
Don’t answer your mom's calls,
think about the people you have lost
and drink some more.
And the most important thing,
the final cut,
take someone you like,
someone you care about
and make them hate you.

Then drink some more.
I'm sorry.
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