The sun leans on the roof of Wanted workers
The money they make is built on the money in graves
Protest signs in dumpsters
Astrology signs in caves
The strings; they are pulling
The strong; they are ashamed
The weak; they are to blame
Baby doll has no name
I've been here once before and I'll never be again
I've said that once before. This time I'll hold my breath
It's certainly her body. Is it then her soul?
Is the fault that of the master? He must be in control
I'll tell her it's alright, but the truth is I don't know
Baby doll is not alone
Baby doll does not know
The sun bends past the roof
The money has been made
Protesters have been mistakes
New parking's being paved
Baby dolls don't have a face
They are personified
Baby dolls can not feel pain
The master forces hand
Baby doll's not in the plan
On Sundays the creatures
Ooze from their awkward dwellings,
Like fat worms after a downpour,
And rush the City.
They infect silently with their sick eyes,
They brush along your shoulder in passing,
They exchange ***** money,
They cause accidents.
They stare at you from across
Your favorite diners
With black coffee depression
And mutter underneath their breaths:
"This isn't real."
By Corey Parsons
White, black, grey
memories in colorless tone.
white like your eyes
torrid and hanging
gorging on fear
foam forming at the corners of your mouth.
your hair shone white.
Grey as I looked up,
Black is what followed.
A lost soul on her way
to a path full of dismay
When will she ever see
a path to be free?
Sobbing and breathing is all I have left.
Though I have oxygen it still feels like she took my last breath.
Theres no greater pain than my heart shattered on the floor.
Broken and bleeding, begging for no more.
I walk through the house with these tears in my eyes.
The person who left me I hope that she cries.
The pain of today will go on for more to come.
This world has darkened a bit more for now I am numb.
I look in the mirror and I only see half of myself.
The other half left me inside of this house.
I begged her not, I'd let her be free but what have I left when it's only just me?
So as I pick up the pieces of my shattered dreams.
I'll slowly sow back together all of my seams.
Maybe one day I'll be complete and all of this will be no more.
But for now and tomorrow my heart sobs on the floor.
D. L. Smith 11/12/2016