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JJ Inda 2h
The absence of a beat,
an empty seat
dust covered clothes;
a fight concerning who's valued most.
Who is entitled to this or that?
Meanwhile the lawyer stares at his watch.
Little Jenny asks for grandpa,
the room is a sudden quiet
and the temperature drops
and the apple on the desk continues to rot.
I still remember the day you took my hand,
Kissed my forehead,
And told me you didn't love me.
November 13, 2018
#66
Of love

I am mourning
Kisses in the morning
There, moaning
Here, groaning
Is it pain?
Is it pleasure?
Will it ever get better?

I am sick
Of you

And the way I feen
That face, my dream
An incessant need
To feed
On your love
High as a dove
In flight

I am sick
Of me

I'm letting go
Goodbye
Don't cry
Goodnight
Don't die
Go on without me
pretty baby,
You'll be fine
You'll be fine
You'll be fine
You'll be fine
You'll be fine
Are you coming to the meadow
where the grass is green?
Are you coming to the meadow
to play with me?

Are you coming to the meadow,
or are you still dying?
Are you coming to the meadow,
or should I start crying?

Are you coming to the meadow,
will I see you again?
Are you coming to the meadow,
will you bring your pen?

Are you coming to the meadow,
will we write our stories?
Are you coming to the meadow,
will we share our glories?
Something about the comfort of autumn—
in California our leaves go straight from green
to gone, if they choose to change at all.
The sun stays bright but the air starts to bite,
and the Santa Anas blow through to dry up
our last drops of livelihood. Most seem to like it—
the streets littered with death and ready to restart—
but the rough winds always hollow me out,
echo a haunting song off the tunnelled walls
of my bones. It’s about this time I empty out,
and fill instead with cotton mouth. My lips chap
and *****, but I smile silently, and I wait.
dionysis 14h
the last ashes fall
yet they don't blow away
buried under the snow
Samuel 16h
Excelsior
is the magic word
that he used
for these long years,
no matter what.
Excelsior:
it was a motto
for people who were more
than just people
but the people
who were just that,
just people.
Like me, like you.
Excelsior,
was a word he sang
in images and text
with heroes
built with many,
shaped by many,
inspiring us many.
Titans were raised
and now he’s fallen
but he left us a gift
in a magic word:
Excelsior.
Bragi 17h
Time flys by
It was when I was born
That my life flashed before
My eyes.
Mackenzie 17h
I loved him so much
He told me to be his Bonnie
And our love would never die

I'd help you **** an innocent human
We'll cover it up
I'll help you lie

Blood is on your hands and
In front of you a tomb
Here lies the dead
Her death was by you

Around my grave
So many flowers grew
Red roses with thorns
Don't touch or
You'll have blood on your hands too
Thank u
Why do you see death?
Winter is but the absence;
The mother of life
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