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Oh, my days have gone back,
To the time I wore a sack.
Dusty, saggy—it was disgusting;
The threads holding it weren't so trusting.

The period long gone,
The chirpings I forgot—
All return, all anew,
Yet old, yet to be taught.

The sack still fits, though I've grown
In flesh and thought, yet not alone.
Its seams recall what I forget,
A stitched regret I haven’t met.

I tread the path I swore to shun,
A shadow walks where once I’d run.
It whispers truths I left behind—
Not cruel, just quietly unkind.

Do I resist? Or let it pass—
This mirror made of fractured glass?
For every step I try to flee,
The past keeps stitching into me.
I reopen the rusty rack—
My lost days have gone back.
As my world is engulfed in flames
Do you still burn for me?
Raging fires, roaring so loudly
Do you still feel me, hear me?
As my heart burns for you
As my love erupts 
Do you not see my passion?

Or am I doomed to be a waste?
All that heat and passion and love
An explosion of emotions, searing my skies
Do I not light you up?
Ashes upon ashes, dying to embers
Do you not want my warmth?

Burned out, cinders and gray
All those feelings and connections
Did it disappear like smoke?
What was once lit now smoldered
What was once passion is now blackened
Was our fire ever real?
Or was I the only one burned?
B 5d
This ain't love but what I feel
Hatred anger and more to steal
Every glance upon your neck
Is just me making sure, to check
I need to know who you are
Before you go and step to far
Don’t you smile that at me
Soon enough, you will see
My stomach hurts and feels obtuse
I will only ever break our truce
Anger fills my eyes and breaks my nose
I’ll never be you, I suppose
No, one day I will, don’t forget it
Steal your body and take your bit
It's not an act of malice, swear
More than one of need, I’m the bear.
Create me to love,
But to never be accepted.
Bind my soul to sin.
Then for sin, deem me rejected.

Destine me to burn,
But to never burn clean.
Create me in divine image,
That's never to be seen.

Persuade me to trust,
To ensure I’d feel betrayed.
Gift me with a life,
To watch a life's decay.

Give me fragile emotion,
To observe my shattered core.
Hoard all sense of peace,
In a world at constant war.

Offer me no wings,
Then demand I ascend.
Force me to be strong,
Then force me to bend.

Decide my directions,
Then curse all the roads.
Promise me forgiveness,
That's neither felt nor shown.

Mold my faulted psyche,
To be damaged by confusion.
Make real my nightmares,
Make my dreams the delusion.

Shackle down my conscience,
Then tell me that I’m free.
Create me in divine image,
Drive me to hate what I see.
Let me tell you about that night
When the moon hadn't been high.
The clouds were all set around
Making a path, at the center, for luna to lie.

The clouds became blue,
The stars were blocked.
In time, rainfall came though,
In mid October, as we talk.

The date had been wrong,
My calendar was torn.
Clouds' inspirations prolong,
A raincoat I had worn.
It was a wrong night,
An incorrect date was recorded.
The reader questioned the journal's insight.
The story had long been discarded.
Thomas Castle Mar 21
you draw the lines blurry so i have to draw up the curtains.

the one-man show,
with no eyes to see,
and no hearts to witness,
has finally faded into its final bow.

you never had to quit -
you were never part of it.
Raven Star Mar 20
The contrast is thin as a thread
But stark.

Yet I am confused,
If I am running away,
Or having
A new start.
Just a random thought
Spurious correlation is when two random variables line up,
Such as shark attacks increasing with the amount of ice pops sold,
Unfortunately for health nuts, ice pops don't cause shark attacks.
But what is truly spuriously correlated is this bullet board,
That I am using to unravel the secrets of writing today.
Such as the number 122 lining up with severely different artists,
As well as well defined writers turning into many missing cases.
If I was ever offered a job as official poet detective,
Of course I would take it, but I would run circles each day.
Official Poets' Association Of Detectives
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