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ns May 2014
I die everyday
A small part of me dies
It may be anything small
Small useless insignificant things
That keep me together
Every part of me slowly decaying
Crumbling into pieces
Falling apart

*ns
Enigmuse Apr 2014
Thoughts: they careen through my head like
cars in the midst of rush hour. I search for
one car in particular. My head is the foundation

of an unconstructed civilization, and I find myself
to be a tourist in the depths of my own mind. I
know all too well how easy it is for others to get lost

in the enigmatic chaos that is my head but I won’t
lose you. I am nothing, compared to the blinding lights
and insistent, blaring sounds, all warring for your attention.

I wander the streets with the sad, distant thought
that maybe I’ll glance up and find your headlights
slicing through the grey overcast. I’d even settle

for the looming red glow of your pretty, quiet
tail lights. But I know you’re long gone and your
lights are long out. The sad and beautiful part about

my mind is that I’m trapped here. And I believe I’d
still be searching for you, even if I didn’t want to. I’m
am a slave to my own thoughts, I am in love

with my mind’s creations. And while I’m well aware that
you are but a figment of my infinite imagination, I will do
everything I can to continue to believe in you.

I am merely a second of time, while you’re the hours
the days and the weeks; I am only for a moment and
you seem like an eternity. The people I pass on the street

know something I don’t - everyone seems to have
figured out how to live with their demons, while mine
like to play keep-away with my sanity. They look a lot like

you. Everytime you cross my mind it sounds a lot like
contorting metal and the shrieks of pedestrians. I suppose
we’ve got a lot in common with a car crash.
Collab w/ Winston Lee
Phoebe Mar 2014
She opens up Word
To finish her long-ago due homework
Yet she just found herself staring
At her little computer
Sighing, she types in
"asfhdbcndjhdr"
Because that was all
That could come out of her
So she goes and gets
A piece of paper
Thinking, hoping
This might be easier

But after a few minutes
Of her just playing with her pen in her fingers
She stops and groans
Wasn't she supposed to be a writer?
Frustrated, she grabs her pens
And throws them
"****, I can't even finish
A ******* po

— The End —