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 May 2018 Sydney Gretha
s
monster
 May 2018 Sydney Gretha
s
you were
the monster,
not under her bed
but inside her head,
slowly killing her mind
mostly with dreadful thoughts
about the human ways, life, death
 May 2018 Sydney Gretha
Coral
BLOOD
 May 2018 Sydney Gretha
Coral
Don't smash the glass between your fingers
Don't allow open wounds
So that the smell of your blood lingers
Only to empty every room

Silence the little girls mind
Silence every thought so she is soothed
Lock that little girl inside
So she is convinced that the lies are truth

***** ears and ***** words
Revolve around nothing but a ***** world
and gargoyles


v  v  v
>     an     <
> angel <
###          down          ###
######          from         ######
########/heaven sat on########
#######/a gargoyle's wing#######
#####/said she, "too bad youre#####
###/hideous! such an ugly thing!###
###\the gargoyle said nothing/###
so the angel said, nonplussed
"too bad you have to
stay on earth and
cannot fly with us"
the gargoyle just sat
there. The angel left
alone. the gargoyle
shed not one tear
for he was made of
///////
stone*\\\\\\\
////////////////\\\\\\\\\\
///////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\
///////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\
/////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\
V               V
She used to tell me
of math and poetry
by the length of her arm
and rhythm of her heart
conversing verse and fraction
with form following the function

of communist theories
and greek philosophies.
she beat out aesthetics
with a perfect symmetry.

because no one understands
the relationship between
seafoam and shoreline
the way she does
[swimming in saltwater sorrows]

reimagining time in an hourglass,
she shot up infinities with a glance
and left me moondrunk in the night.

she emits sparks throughout my system
breaking and entering--
my kingdom under siege.

her name was an amalgam of numbers
italic1.6180399. . . .italic
and I loved her by design.
this is an old favorite. it's clunky and rushed but like junk food it's good. for those who have found patterns in love and love of patterns.
People died.
Right there in the video.
They lost their lives after cyanide
laced drinks were forced
down their throats
and they choked.
And they died.
After listening to the tape, I researched.
918 people filled that room
many were confused, conflicted
but all addicted
to a drug
a plague
a bug, parasite named
Jim Jones.
He talked about Russia, and murdered congressmen
and how the world would not listen.
but, Jones, I listened.
I heard the voices cheering, I did
but I also heard the voices saying "I'm not ready to die"
I heard children start to cry
I heard them asking if they would to die,
all the while high on this drug you fed them.
Grab their jaws
open their mouths
pour it in.
Drug is defined as
"A medicine or other substance which has a physiological effect when ingested or otherwise introduced into the body, "
while Drank the Kool Aid is defined as
"Someone who has been so bought into their leader's vision or cause they will blindly follow to their own doom."
I WON'T!
So when you say to drank the Kool Aid
I stopped listening.
I watched
I watched as I poured out Kool Aid on the floor.
I imagined 918 people doing the same.
when a voice said, "take some"
I listened.
And I said no.
you can also find this on poemhunter if you really fancy.
My Mind - is not My own.

It is the sleepless nights,
the empty stares,
the half-hearted comments
the quickening breaths.

It is the clouded days,
the fizzling thoughts
the fear that is constant

My Mind - it is not.
You've had a hard life
Full of hatred and denial
Betrail and heartbreak
Like your heart is on trial

You want it to end
This treacherous life
To run away free
To give up the fight

But I can tell you now
That nothing can compare
To what you've gone through
Through all that despair

It might seem like
The tunnel of light
Would be much better
If it stopped burning bright

I can tell you
"Don't end your life"
But it would do anything
Except fuel the fight

Your heart doesn't want it
I can see it in your eyes
So I wrote a poem for you
Without wearing a disguise

I might not be the wisest
Or all knowing and powerful
But I can tell you
That life is beautiful

Seeing a sunrise
Or little bits of joy
Will make you realize
Your life's not a toy

Don't take these moments
The futures you haven't seen
Instead, hope that one day
You'll find where you've been

Find your soul and yourself
On this journey of life
Some might even call it
A journey of love
The poem I wrote for a friend to hopefully keep him from suicide. If you're reading this, don't die on me..
Hello?
Can you hear me?
I’m down here...
6 feet under...
Not where I’m suppose to be
You come and visit me
Everyday
I hear you constantly pray
To talk to me again
Hold my hand
Hug me tight
Well I’m right here
I hear everything you say
I cry with you
I laugh with you
I pray with you
I am always with you
Even from 6 feet under
I AM HERE
I pray myself
To heal your pain
Dry your eyes
Help you move on
Don’t forget me
You know where I am
Always in your heart
Forever your friend
I will continue to grow old with you
Until we meet again
When we walk together in the sky
Holding each others hands
For now I stay
6 feet underground
Loving you
Praying with you
Hearing your voice
As I lay in silence
6 feet underground...
Wrote this from the perspective of a person who has passed away and what they see and feel everyday....
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