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dorian green May 12
breathe in incense smoke—
swirling carcinogen,
but not my favorite.
not by far, not when
bruised lungs run in the family.
smolder, smoke, ash, original sin,
a debt i am going to make you watch
me pay. i'm always playing the victim.
i read seduction, i breathe in incense,
to maintain an innocence
i never had. it just feels so religious to self-flagellate.
i speak in tongues and don't make sense,
i try to trace myself through the guilt,
and envy jesus.
at least he had
the nails as reference.
how many times you've done this before
is about the only difference
between being a martyr and deserving it.
My Dear Poet Apr 18
I’ll give you the sun
Once I pay off the moon
Kristin Nov 2020
Too many days
have gone by in worry
too many nights
in nightmares

Too many afternoons
in soppy tears
too many mornings
with short breath

There are no happy endings
only endings
only means to an end
only dying to live
beyond our means
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2020
Target on my back
Wishing my pockets
Were happy pharmacies
And not sad reminders
Of long expenditures
And indiscretions
At night
Here now
In debt
I'm in your sights
Madam Cashier
Take the first shot
Bill me later
We'll call it even
Equal compensation
Or a semblance thereof
I spent freely
Allow me please
To die the same way
Sabika H Nov 2020
I owe you my life
My wisdom
My talents
My strengths
My beauty.
I thought I knew myself but
I’ll never know me like
How you knew me.
And somehow
You looked passed the ugly
And deemed me
Deserving.
Pulled me to safety
Away from the edge
Inspired within me an urge
To give you my pledge
To serve.

When I thought I reached a peak
I was proven to be short sighted.
When I was presented with the answers
My heart was delighted
And my soul lifted.
You are like the stick my stem is stuck to
As I grow tall, broad and straight.
You are the rope I hold on to
As I climbed and floated,
And you were not bothered by my weight.

You’re a friend to me
You’re the someone I always wanted.
Heard me cry scream and sob
And you were patient when insulted.
And so I live by your mercy
And you remain exalted
And I pledge to continue serving
So that I can prove to you
To myself
That I am deserving.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Thunder rages on outside.
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
It attempts to scare me
into succumbing to the dark
and to the rain.
I would like rain
to accompany me on my
endeavors.
But I’m too much indebted
to afford it.
The skies want their
money back
and the heavens
have sent lightning.
They need it back
to bring back order.
Such a concentration of darkness
in one mortal isn’t natural.
They demand it back.
They need it back.
They send the rains
to make me yield to wizardry.
I do not
and smile in hope
that I’ll belong to the rain someday
and rain will belong to me.
That Girl Sep 2020
She got dealt a bad hand in life.
But she didn’t fold.
She kept playing.
She didn’t walk away from the table,
And leave the casino like she should have.
She keeps playing the hand life dealt her.
And she’s slowly going into debt.
Deeper in the game until one day she won’t be able to play anymore.
She’ll be out of money.
Out of cards.
I just pray it doesn’t come to that.
I want her to fold.
Leave the table.
Leave that lifestyle behind her.
Count her losses and move on with her life.
There’s more to life than that hand that life dealt her.
I just wish she could sober up long enough to see it.
I just wish she could see that there’s so much more to life than the hand that she was dealt.
Jordan Gee Aug 2020
A swollen sun descends upon us.
small children at play with painted faces.
time is not an endless tick, one and then another
(the plague nearest our dwelling)
but a single broad and present moment stretching
out and on forever.
sometimes i feel my heart will burst
scattered about, then gathered up in a world of rag and bone.
seeds for the great harvest are but a payment for a
karmic debt -
a purple heart sacrifice of my broken hand -
a slice from stem to stern.
my eyes they sink into my head.
the world is a deep grey beneath the deep stars.
the constant chatter in the skull -
a fallen angel named Moroni.
my sunken eyes watch me lift the bad hand
the heathen of my good intentions -
the purple heart of a bad apostle
the shackles of my station
the facing of certain destruction within the grim Hallway of Anubis.
a single moment stretching on forever and a balancing of the heart.
a swollen sun descends upon the third circle of Hell -  a place where I no longer live.
written 27aug2018
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