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belbere Jan 2015
Damp eyes never meant us well
They're such an inconvenience
And passersby
won't fall in line
Step aside nor
slow their stride
But we'll ignore their careless eyes
Don't want to inconvenience

Cross streets, mean streets, it's
the blind leading the blind
And maybe we're wasting our time
'Cause the map in our hands
spells out misprinted boundaries and
Who can read smeared ink
Run off the page into unknown
territories dripping purple as the bruises
beneath our fingertips

If we hold on any tighter
Our travels will be
Etched into the other's skin
A directory of streets wandered by
the two of us just
a walk down route mother, please and
Round to relapse avenue
To sip champagne
in the light of
dreams forgotten

*but darling the lines in my palms
have always led back to you
Response to The (lovely) Anonymous Joker's poem (Want) a show for all which can be found here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1019544/want-a-show-for-all/

It's all for a collection which can only keep getting better.
the ocean of my bloodline calls out to me
from the sinew of my scars

we walk, strangers on parallel shores


the cigarette butts have been rubbed out all over my inner thigh

a flash there

another here

the platinum shackles on my ears and hand
betray my animosity

- this is no social call
a delusion of stagnancy
the light changes,
i change

camouflage remains my speciality




(Out-take for want)
Hoist your skirts

Tears sparkling like champagne
were always overrated


getting in the way


Ours are the streets

The night

the skies


Let's go out safe
in our dreams,
our memories



Yet everyone marches on

The deluge of music washes around us


As it bears us farther away

Your hands slip through mine
Yet our incisors show

Sharp
Wanting

The bruises don't fade

But a neighbour group
Makes us brush past each other

They said we'd be ashamed

They said they'd rather die

They said there was no time






Our dance lasts our breaths
As the moon hides

Another game tonight
Response to the brilliant Belle B's poem which can be found at: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1018346/want-a-curtain-call/

Our collection is really shaping up- join the madness. Feel the inspiration. It's a movement calling for more *want*
belbere Jan 2015
The curtains close
over our eyes
And the guns play firework
lullabies

And the band marches
into our dreams
tonight
Parading beneath
our red spotlight

Encore, encore!
We're not satisfied
Their limbs are tired but
the *****'s not dried

The stage demands
its sacrifice
Sleep cannot comfort while
closed eyes still cry
Response to (Want) to make merry by The Anonymous Joker which can be found here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1017650/want-to-make-merry/

It's going to be a grand collection.
I saw them calling for us
As they broke down the walls

But I didn't have much to give
So I laughed
Opening my wrists and giving them my all

They danced...
How they twirled and sang

My demons
as they finally thought the din
was too clamorous

The ***** has dried on my feet and I

I just need it off of me
As my nails seek to give my blood
An out

But my friends, those **** fools,
They danced

And I kept laughing
And crying
It was like a dam had burst

And I cried

As they laughed
But the blood came out with them

I just want some rest now

Need some sleep
Need to close my eyes

*Love,
I had fun
Response to (Want) the tantaraza by BelleB which can be found at: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1017185/want-the-tantaraza/

Follow our collection. It's bound to be interesting.
Maurice Leger Dec 2014
Love they say can usually be found just around the corner
The problem is we sometimes fail to make the “Right” turn
A collection of my Quotes that I will be adding to as time goes by.
I will be adding all Quotes in this tread
Stages and Ages Dec 2014
I am a collection of the people I have left
and the people who have left me
Michelle Garcia Nov 2014
i've lost many things
like my favorite pen
and my other sock
and you

you only know you've lost these things
when you can't find anything to write with
or when only one foot becomes frigid,
but losing someone,
losing someone is different

you never empty your pockets for them
or frantically search under beds
in hopes to find them hiding there
and you can't forget them in the bottom
of your messy closet
or in the cup holders in your car

it's a lot harder to find someone
when they're echoing in your heart
and pulsing through your head,
still in every part of you-
yet your arms remain
empty
Poetic T Nov 2014
Sitting in line, my dolls all still
Figurines sitting dressed up features
Frozen in that moment
Placid
Stagnant
Soundless
As all lips sealed with a sewn kiss,
"Never do they speak"
"Silence is there skill"  
Death seeps from staring eyes,
"They are the perfection I killed for",
Never would I wish for such perfection
But it only lasts so long as all flowers
Wilt
My dolls I hunt for, not anyone will do
They have to be a
Height,
Weight,
Beauty
Instilled, for me to appreciate them,
But those that fall, damaged in some way
Not as pristine,
"To the dumpster they must go"
I am called the "Doll Maker"
Perfection of eternal beauty Is my goal,
Features must be symmetrical
Not any face will do,
I will search for those of
Beauty
Exquisiteness
Symmetry
Is my model of perfection, those
Unsightly
Repugnant
Proportions
Not to my qualities, have no fear
You are beneath my view
Only the beautiful I seek,
"I Love My Silent Dolls"
Dressed sitting quietly still,
I am the
"Doll Maker"
For beauty & perfection I am willing to ******
We **** for beauty, but some go the extra mile
Missy Oct 2014
one foot in front of the other
the miles proceed to sky rocket
although the time is not wasted
for its minutes counted in kisses
and eternity held in your smile
the day sets with the sun
for then the stars come out to play
we dance beside licking flames of a bonfire
and we drink to the memories to be forgotten
we chant to the morning
wishing it refuses to return
our eyes trace each other's figure
for madness of desire settles in
as every second freezes when you hand holds mine
and fingers trace across defined jaw lines
distance seems to be far away in the mist of the mountains
held only in a creative imagination
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