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Butch Decatoria Jan 2019
Metro’s wastrel streets,
Littered with points, blackened foil;
Excremental prey.
Kaitlin Evers Feb 2018
I carry this mask to hide behind
And cache away my flaws
But know me, know me
Is my cry

I make myself this camouflage
Though please do not be fooled
See past my guise
See me, see me
Is my cry

Peirce through my shield into my heart
There you'll see I'm torn apart
I play like asphalt
But there's music in my heart
Vexren4000 May 2017
Rabbits scurry and frolic,
Always living in perpetual peace, and Fear,
They know something,
Of the cruelty, this world has to offer.
They have seen comrades rendered piles of meat,
Upon the hot barren asphalt street.
No longer able to frolic and play,
With their friends of the day.  
As they have become,
A mummified disc of hair,
And bone.

AJ Feb 2017
The house was big,
Too big for a divorced family of four.
It had sickly, pale yellow siding
With cracking paint and a long archway
That led to a round, asphalt-covered

Most days the trees
That rolled out into the little valley
Alongside it were barren and spiny,
And you could see through them, all
The way to the quiet road that cut
Through the growing houses

If you were lucky, you would have seen
A few kids shooting airsoft guns,
Running through the fallen leaves,
Leaping atop all the muddy mounds of dirt
Next to the creek, but they
Have lost contact

If you were to climb up the little green hill
That rose just next to the mouth
Of the house’s driveway,
Cresting along the edge of the cul-de-sac,
You would see a greenhouse,
Brown, with splotches of dirt
On the windows.

If you opened its flimsy door,
Which was usually locked,
You would see all the uncut tomato plants,
All the sage and spices,
And you would probably wonder
Why they were not harvested

But the people who owned it
Usually bought their groceries
Rather than grew them.
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
Like a squiggle in your eye; blink,
because I am all lipstick smudges left under carefully-pressed lapels, or Sharpied innuendos scrawled on bathroom walls in dingy bars.
A souvenir from one ephemeral moment, a fleeting tryst of dispassion (from my side at least); before I am scrubbed bare and raw.

DON'T YOU TOUCH ME, for I am so tender.
Thrown into the wash;
you can clean me, but the stain remains.
The scent of sugar, sweat and shame.
SøułSurvivør May 2015

streets twinkle
with the cars
the sky is granite
asphalt stars

trees die with their
stunted height
buildings grow
with urban blight

pine box slabs
of window's pain
glassy panels
city's stain

gritty mouths
feed dogs that bark
moist streets where
the world is parked

gravel streetlights
lend the night
darkened sidewalks

blackest light

rewrite (c) 5/12/2015
written 2014
At play with juxtaposed ideas.

Bunny Mar 2015
Faded Glory
Sweatshirt clenches my
teary salt seas.
Mascara on cotton
like drizzle upon Asphalt.
Daniel Mashburn Sep 2014
No view from my window.
The clouds blanket the night sky.
Color me shades of gray.
The steam rises up
from the asphalt of the streets.
Beckoning me not to stay.
A distant rumble.
Lightening cracks over my head.
Thunder breaks as if to say.
'You're down for the moment.
Begging the silence.
But just get up today.'

She said 'I know there's a riot
going on up in your head,
but there doesn't have to be.'
She said, "You've been distant.
A little resistant.
But just come back to me.'

She's still waiting.
'I'm still fading.'
'So hold me now.'
'Have no regrets.'
'Don't let me down.'

I see her smile for the first time in so many days.
I think she thinks that I can be saved.
From myself, from what's left in my head.
She's saying sleep, but I stay awake instead.
This helplessness advances and there's no second chances.
I'm left here by myself.
She sits patiently.
She promised she'd wait for me.
She hasn't left me yet.
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