Melissa 1d

I'll  wonder if you miss us, that thought itself absurd

I'll  wonder if the secrets I've told you since have been left unheard

I'll wonder if there is nothing, just blissful quiet sleep

I'll wonder if all your memories are still yours to keep

I'll wonder if I'll see you in more than just my dreams, that thought alone- sometimes- makes the pain less than it seems.

I wonder can you hear me, my laughter and my cries,

I wonder what happens when somebody dies.

What happens when someone dies?
I say,
There is an island that meets the eyes,
And slowly float from life away,
Upon the banks the perished soul lies,
For now it is free and must find a way,
For eternity to survive,
For maybe the soul can die,

What happens when someone dies?,
I say,
They see endless white light,
And they see what's most precious,
It can be a sight,
To the eyes gracious,
It removes the fright,
It may be deceiving,
From the pain,
Of dying.

What happens when someone dies?,
I say,
A person hears his worst lies,
Has to suffer the guilt,
Of the pain inflicted on many lives,
It is endless suffering,
For those who ignores the forbiddence of sinning,
They suffer for all eternity,

What happens when someone dies?
I say,
They are set free from the shackles and tortures of life,
And that is the ultimate freedom,
For one to desire.

What I expect when I die.... Eventually

Nobody likes me now
I don't care
Everybody hates me now
They've got some nerve..
Everybody's looking down
I'm feeling cyclical
What should I do about

These bastards

Sin in over abundance
Reality could never change
Sacrifice util it's incumbent
You love the fair exchange

Gauge the metric
By which you judge
The proper usage

Harsher than the light on my keyboard

Often peckish
Killing skeptics
The proper usage
It all falls in the same vein

Forgiveness to a fault line
My god
All I've ever wanted was a new design
Hiding away in the suffering
Fudge the figure for the slumbering

Drab as they may come
Welcome to the whole damn phylum
Encroaching on the underlying theming
And everyone seems confused

I took the world
In my hands
Looked down
Then up again
They all were screaming
About the meaning
Under god
Claiming that they were free men

No resolve left, I stopped listening


kicked down the cemetery gate
and kissed the ground
the pearl moon called

true death
of my earthly shape
among the lantern light

beneath the wheels of a chariot
in equal measure
i was remade and destroyed

i am the one
that fell from darkness
into an even greater void

Saint Titus Aug 17

Deep under ground
Through these channels
Communication of a life
Longing led
Bleeding out this medication

Permutation of the rain
Water ever flowing
Through eroded cisterns
Joy and pain
Ever dimmer
And the nowhere this is going  

Through the ground i did arise
Only to find the blackest night
And through the clouds i did escape
Only to find the void of space

Back at the start
Plans demolished
Polishing my motive
Over drawers
Filled with empty inkwells
And words on paper jotted

This nightmare slowly rises
Feeling uninspired
Quiet, new horizons
Bleed out into an open sky

This earth feels far away
This is all I have to say
Simplicity, this final right
Long awaiting, this endless night

Heads will roll on the floor

I want my book in a children's library
I want my book in a maximum security prison

I want my book resting on a cloud in a sky
to be seen by a passenger in an airplane
the passenger to crack the escape hatch and jump
survive the fall

I want my book to be a parachute
I want my book surrounded by tiny hands,

and mouths,
saying I love you
I love me.
I will survive

I want a book that is a house
for the abandoned
I want a book that is a vacany sign
Rent me.

I want my book that is a headstone
I want a book that is a flowerbed
I want a book that is a matchstick
a Tire Iron
an oil tanker

I want a book that is a leatherman
in a hunters pocket
in the belly of a deer
in the zip ties and cellophane
of a childs Christmas present

I want a book that bleeds

I want a book held by tiny hands
with wide eyes
wider because of me

I want to destroy the innocence of children
by handing them courage and wisdom
I want to inspire revolution
I want sad eyes and clenched fists
I want skydive
wings grown during the fall

I want a nation run by answers
with blood stained sheets

I want a book that is every question
symbiotic book
single cell organism
splits in two hearts

I want a book that is a surgeon

saving lives,
holding scalpel
I want a book with hands up
no rubber gloves, just a gun to it's back
an engine running
I want a book that is a bank robbery
paper bag mask
on fire
Molotov cocktails
disguised as champagne bottles
Destined for VIP

I want the man who threw it
to be the only one burning
and well read
And horny
I want my book in his VIP

I want him to read it with a melted eye
I want my book in his prison cell
to be next to me
maximum security
my casket

I want a book resting
on a cloud in the sky
in a children's library
surrounded by tiny hands
Before I am gone.

Smile that cuts like a knife,
But every time,
To my eyes
—a surprise.
Oh love,
You were my citadel. I hope I'm not the only one who's fearing, & has felt
like I'm 12.
So ready for the world, yet so small, I walk the Ocean but I know I'm just as little as a shell.
Oh love,
Love sounds like an afterlife, a knife that cuts twice, once for you & once for I.

Oh love,
Save me,
Then devastate me.
Your wrath be damned, Heartache.
Can the thoughts of past mistakes,
make stronger of something,
that in which is bound to break?
-My H/E/A/R/T

My stomach is filled with peach cores & thorn,
I take my coffee black like this heart, rotten to the color,
without, "cream or sugar?"

I'd rather burn, than be replaced.
  Hurt to be adored & be re-born,
I'd rather leave, than drop-dead & fade away,

My eyes freeze a dream
  to see
the scenery,
glory in corruption,
flames-bursting in disruption,
Eyes grey, dry as dry
& Rivers burn—"my veins", eruption.

My heart is black as gasoline,
Eyes grey, dry as dry-ice—burning.
The fire won't burn me, because my body
is too cold,
-"they" say, but I've never been good at listening,
Especially, to what I'm told.

They say, "the heart is blind"
Why does mine see
like it's-its own mind,
That all I've allowed, to hold me,
Has always left every time,
& left me, empty.

Betwixt in the midst,
Of a lethal mix,
I see, eye's see a blackheart of
~gasoline & hydrogen twist~
Eyes grey of dry-ice, burnin',
burning dry & no river or rain will fix, their growing redness.

Heart's are blind?
Why does mine see a lie?
I've made up my mind;
All I've allowed to hold me,
Has always left every time,
& left me, empty.

Blackheart of gasoline,
Eyes of scarlet red & dry-ice burn a dream
to see
you, & in their opening, with rage & they return to grey, but you—freeze,
In place, in the same page, which I'm irate, & with rage I know,
With rage I create,
an entire world,

I am not what I have done,
I am what I have erased,
& comforted, I love, with hate.

Mind scattered all over I've cracked.
My heart is black,
&my feelings enwebb into one
-heart attack,
My heart is black,
I feel my hatred coming back.
Love, you're messin' with
the wrong beast' baby-
-an illness,
a mother-fucking disease,
   your mistake,
if you can't see,
a blatant truth in your way.

Oh love,
Take me by the horns, it's time to settle our long harbored scores.

Oh love,
Save me,
Then devastate me.
Your wrath be dammed, Heartache.
Can the thoughts of past mistakes,
make stronger of something,
that in which is bound to break?
-My H/E/A/R/T

-Ashton Amstutz

Life continues as before
I will press snooze three times
Before getting ready for work;
My waiter will ask me
How I take my usual coffee
And I will check dreams
Off my list
As long as I breathe.

Life continues as before
Except in those quiet moments
I recall our moments
Written in stone.

Don't we all start off as strangers?
Before soon enough,
One takes a piece of your heart
You never want back.

We cross paths just to part
Everyone leaves
And we are left with memories;

The waves will wash away our footsteps
But not the fact that we made them.

Life continues as before
The world will not stop
But I will –

Then for a second,
You and I share a moment.

My soul grieves
for a soul;
a life lost,
to the world,

The world,
this life
full of pressure
she cannot keep.

So she frees
her soul,
for her soul
to cling to a

He tries
to stand on
the soles of
his feet

O how
he stumbles
and falls.

But how he bears,
for a life to be
shared with
a soul that
clings to his soul.

This spirit
from memory,
calls to his
bitter aid.

And as if
not even God can save him,
he is bound, chained
to the promise
he made.

O how my soul
grieves for
his soul!
And as he grieves
and weeps for
his own

It is far too late now.

between two dimensions
a chain.
'Til he fulfills
the promise made
to her.

A promise
for a dead soul.

Tribute to a friend of a friend
Alva Cardona Jul 12

I’ve always wondered what heaven is like.
I ask myself, is heaven a place? If so, how
can I get there? Do I have to wait until I die?
(Am I pondering these metaphysical matters
because of philosophical or eschatological 
reasons, or am I just concerned with the events
that will happen in the end of my life?
Am I asking for an epiphany, or a revelation?)
Do I have to read the sacred texts from the many
religions that claim such place exists? Is there
a secret map to that realm, hidden somewhere?
Is there a secret door, or a secret key to the
Pearly Gates? Do I have to seek admission?
Live a righteous life? Be a saint? Is heaven only
reserved for immortals and mortals related to
the gods, like mythological heroes and demigods?
What price do I have to pay in this life,
for a one-way, first-class ticket to Paradise?
Was Homer right? Are the Elysian Fields really
located in the western ocean at the end of the
world? Do I just have to follow the stream of
Okeanos, the infinite river that encircles the
planet? Do I have to study the ancient science
of Cosmography, to map out a safe route and
navigate through the spheres? Do I have to steal
DaVinci’s schematics to build my own wings and
fly until I ascend like a soaring eagle (or descend
like a fallen angel down the exosphere) to spend
the Afterlife luxuriously, among the gods?
Will I be greeted and embraced by the divine,
or by supreme beings or deities like Zeus, Jehovah,
Brahma, Olorun, Odin, Allah, or Buddha?
Will I meet Daedalus and Icarus, the Wright brothers,
Amelia Earhart, and all those humans that dared
to reach the skies and leave the earth behind?
On this plane, happiness is a fleeting feeling, and
even if I’m able to see the stars in the cold of
night and feel the Universe cover me like a blanket,
there’s no warmth or light without the sun.
But I’d give anything to escape the cycle of
day and night –of life and death– just to be
able to feel the cosmos flow through me like
a river without the boundaries of the flesh, to
skinny dip and float around naked in Nirvana,
the sea of pure joy where no soul drowns.

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