There's always been rocks along the path,
who was I to deny the company of another on the same road,
fate would pull them away when their fork came,
but I always wondered alone, once and twice, I'd met,
but they left,
or I would.

So I walked along the path, feet with blisters,
often thirsty and drinking from my can,
I find you looking so sure of yourself,
you've traveled longer than I have,
you came prepared.

We walked along together,
I was wary to let another one in,
I felt exhausted and beaten down,
the last traveler that walked with me was a lost cause,
pretending to be sure but never really,
but you weren't and you knew it.

The walls of rock which no one would bother to climb,
you climbed, making sure I saw it,
so I'd remember when the days became hard,
that you would climb again and again.

You built a fort together with me,
I no longer was lone in protecting myself,
you joined my fort with weapons so I'd no longer be defenseless,
the roads I've walked along for so long,
you saved me from the thorns on my path,
showing me the softer grass to walk on.

When the fork came,
we looked at each other,
by then, I couldn't live without you,
wandering the path again was not the same,
the only path I wanted to walk,
was the one you were going.

So when you took that fork,
I followed.

Quinn 4d

I see your smile and your laugh.

It hurts.

Every time I look your way,
it feels like a stab to the chest.

Is it an act? a play?
To make me feel the pain I put you through?

You moved on, rose above
but I'm still here, downing in the repercussions of our actions,

of my actions.

I'm now just a distant memory to you,

Forgotten

I was the first ripple in the lake
To caress you in your fall
But you did not wish to stay

You skipped along
Pursing love on higher depths
And last I saw, you were falling
More than I could've let

Your little stone heart
isn't skipping now
What has you sinking down?

The darkness clasps your heart
Tightly in his hands
What a terrible man

Does the pressure above
keep you below?

But In the dark,
don't you feel alone?

When I think about you and him
My stomach turns to lead
Coated in poison
Tearing apart my insides
As it falls downward
Fast.

I forgot how jealous I can get
After years of not feeling much of anything
And I hate how it feels because I know it’s not ok;
Your past is a part of you
And I think you’re perfect the way you are.

But when I think of how he hurt you
When you loved him unconditionally

How he hit you
When you were nothing but kind;

How he left you
Alone and broken

Twice

I am no longer jealous
I’m pissed.

Martin Narrod May 25

Tangley Wangling

Fruit Jews in Tutus at youth group, maybe just a few with their screws loose. One self-rolling righteous group, their brothers grinning
Within the depths of their white-heads at the brim of a wet blanket suckling the needles catering new drug use. Two by two, elefants and woozels, hippopotamü's confusals, spongey-butts outfitting the rye n' wines refusals.

The luxury of a coccyx felt from the fingers turn to sunrise, where the water's weigh the bricks of suicides, concrete block tourniquets from the migraines of English turnabouts. So there's some surplus of surprise in them, in an integers shock-appraisal face-lift on Catholicism's lobotomy to cuckhold housewives seeking collagen, or the thick dark-skinned forearm-fisting insider's swinging in the houses of the denizens, or repurposing their malign from their unused vaginas, to suck the dust off such scab-covered stitches, which is like vacuuming between the loose inner-leg space of a succubus.

Bring out the gimp! Any fetishized leather-wearing hungry miner for the oral tongue-slapping mouth-dance might do, as long as the dom can subdue that sub tied to the stocks voted on for the public to use, there might be screaming, squirming, and scoffs, but there's nothing left for him that Marina Abramowicz hasn't already proven she's willing to lose. Plus, in this small town not far enough from Laramie, there's still too much fat to chew through, too much flab to tuck the dick into, where even the F.U.P.A. so deep that a phallic-day or deity might need the leverage of a boot to get even Ron Jeremy's cock unglued.

Lucky loos by the brothel befit these new arrivals, though some tyrannosaurs despise 'em, smoke as much as you can if you've got 'em.

But don't let your antiques get you down, an ornithologist lends herself to your bookends, and even that nighthawk roosting makes your car alarm sound second rate, it's seconds late as the aves rave to the ravens, and they pontificate. Owls hoo-hoo and hooting, branch off with the others and start colluding. They just wanna get you home, to get back those prosthetics you've loaned.

Canoodling barbarians on their way back from the aquarium, demand  their fires come from oblivion, which sends sparks of arguments from the sharks and the bathylkopian oblivions, where we found that this water's warm these citizens, demand recompense for such grandiose living expense, three pence to use the phone, twelve rupees towards the sofa, and even a deutsch mark for every sit or every look at sit, it's just a chair, a doubly set of wooden legs, idling under a table plank. Pirated by the buttocks, such bullocks it is, and that's just it!

An archaeologist on assignment discovered that the future of the rhinoceros exists upon the olfactory exaggerated proboscis, the result of flushing unused anti-biotics, and is currently working for dimes out of college to deluge this quite deprived yet interesting biopic.  

The films of the junky, grab at the balls thrown about by The Monkees, and the musicians wearing those stickers on their breasts, are victim to XXS cotton denim vests, unzipped and barely covering themselves, added to by the accessories and rings, jewelry if anything, a pearl necklace and nubile sacrifis.

And the trollops frolic, diurnally dispose of logic, doing the hoopty-hoop, the alley-oops, with mom's high school flute in nothing but cowboy boots!

These are, the new discoveries of our species, carved into the marble and wet frescos, in the street reliefs, spray-painted and air-brushed motif, this creates such gatherings for throngs of people who've unachieved their needs, who've displaced their parents and display their racist grieving beliefs to trash indigenous language pleas for francophonian linguistic greed that have splayed their hellacious treaty in what's considered to be modern circumscribed and ill-painted cuneiform visually conceived, vocal graffiti.

So that the neu-faux derogatory delegates stress to sudatorium, it has regressed to moratoriums, we've now cancelled this sport consortium of awful and flagrant art performances.

Leandra Jan 11

Things will get better
That is what everyone says.
But has anything got better,
No.
Nothing has got better.
Everything has gotten worse.
Nothing has emotional has changed.
My mind is still to him and I still love him.
Yes, I know that he loves someone else now.
Yes,
I know that I am nothing to his memories now.
Everything will be okay.
No it won't
I haven't been okay for almost a year.
Everything will change, he will miss you.
He said he loved me but the smile that was on his face after the pain
Says something completely different.
He still loves you,
Now
you are trying to hurt me

Kayla Aug 2016

I kissed a boy today
Another stranger in hopes of
Finding you at my door once again

When we kissed,
He felt like you
Except my eyes were open
And his were closed

You taught me
That having my eyes closed
Allowed my walls to come down
Allowed vulnerability
I no longer have that luxury
God I miss you

I felt nothing kissing him
Please come back to me, my dear
Kiss me like when we were at the park alone
In the soft spring
I wish to feel again

Fight or flight
A gut response.

I've bathed in hatred dressed like leathermans pointed at my ribcage.

Jumped off rooftops thinking the ground was softer than my future.

Told woman to choke me until I purple
Purple plays verb safer than run
Than scream
than remember.

When your sancuary
Has a spotlight on the one thing you've been escaping from.
Fight or flight.

"Hello"
You tap her shoulder.
Confirm she's not your hallucination.
You still aren't sure.
You couldn't touch long enough.

Do not ask.
"where is she?"
Or "so you're an alcohaulic now?"
Or "are you having a panic attack? Because I'm having a panic attack.
And you used to always have panic attacks.

Do not pose:
If I avoid the streets of an entire city
So I won't cross your path.
whether you are there or not.
See Your ghost in the deli,
Order gelato, carrying a carseat.
hear your name
reach out to thin air
that belongs in my lungs.

Why, beautiful disaster
Are you skipping your A.A. meeting
Sitting at this bar, that I call home.
Drinking on a stool that with one moment
Belongs to your ghost now.

how did you stumble into this bomb shelter?
Were the salt circles not enough to keep you out?
have I not been loud enough?
I preach the Gospel of this microphone.
Everyone within a ten mile radius of a screen
knows I come here at this time
on this day
every week

If you ever want to see me.
I'll be here.
I can't leave.

You can.
You don't have to.
I mean, I didn't invite you.
But when has that ever stopped you before?
If you need to face me head on.
Come.
I need you too.
Let's dance
Forget the empty dresser covered in princess stickers
Forget the swirling mattress of our lies and mistakes.
Fuck Google+
your perfect ass,
the photographs I can't delete.

Jump on this bar table with me.
Show them how it breaks under our weight.
Smash that beer against the wall
Jam the broken bottle in my ribs
I promise you.
I will fucking feel it.
If my blood doesn't spill out.
If my pain doesn't splatter this godamned stage.
If a single person in this room forgets
This dance
When we purple.
our bodies slammed off every dining room table
Shatter wine glasses into chapbooks
tear off your fake smiling mask
throw it at a nearby voyeur.
Naked screaming killing each other.
When we blackout.

your ghost will still be sitting at the godamned bar haunting me.

And it's funny
Why does it hurt?
It's not like I go a day
without seeing you anyway

Carissa Blessing Mar 2016

My eyes are so heavy sitting in the passenger seat
Following the bits and pieces of thoughts passing by out the window
Everything seems hazy these days
It'll never be the same
Maybe it's just the aftermath of the breath I release, caused by relief
Or maybe not relief at all
My lungs are inflamed
Every time I try to talk about it, I tend to cough up the anger I pushed so far down into the center of my being
I don't want to be angry anymore
I'm happy for you, really
My heart rejoices at the fact that you found something "better"
To Jupiter and Back my knees scrape the ground
This pounding moved from my chest to my head
I love you never seemed to hurt more
Maybe because it doesn't belong to me
I wish I didn't have to relive the memories of the past
They are an overcast that never leave my dreams
I wish it would pour so that I wouldn't have to bare holding in all this resentment
An empty mind never seems to last long anymore

Why am I still masturbating to you?
I hate that you're beautiful.
that I'm too weak to delete this picture.
That the most intimate thing left of you
is your body.
After four years of living out every fantasy.
A home,
baby,
making dinner,
fighting,
making up,
waking up next to you.
All i'm left with
is this carnal desire to possess you again
like you used to belong to me.
And isn't that the worst thing.
Isn't that the whole reason I left in the first place.
Because we both knew that nobody belongs to anyone.
Yet after all my grieving
All my lovers between now and then.
This is the memory I cherrish most.
This last chance to steal you.
When we were already breaking We thought it might save us.
How foolish we were.
See in the picture you can tell we were breaking.
Your eyes begging to forget.
Just like I beg to forget you.

The first time I saw you walk into a room
I deleted all the naked photographs of my ex lover in that instant.
Just in case you checked.
Just in case I flirted with you.

No girl has earned that same memory.

It belongs to you.
See, memories you can claim.
But not people.

The time you refused to accept
blankets between us and the cold ground
of our tent would keep us warmer
than piling them all on top of us.
That we can keep.
That mistake belongs to us.

The night we took this photograph.
The curvature of your hips.
Your arms hung dead like the maronette strings snapped that day.

That's a memory That i've captured.
See, even though you're gone and I don't have you.
I have this picture.

Why is it that i can go every day of my life loving people for who they are.
Seeing their dreams and past lives.

But with you
Blood.
I see this carnal need to devour you
like some delicacy.
Some favorite dish.

I hate that you're still beautiful.
I hate that you turn me into this monster.

One who sees girl as flesh not human.
Bones as shield not structure.

And it's only you.
This one thing i hate.
Who I need to fuck.
Who I need to possess again.

I'm so glad I left you.
Glad I killed the monster.
But I can't delete this picture.

Every lonely night That I would cry alone and miss you, I don't.
I crave you instead.
Claw into your flesh
pull out a still regretably beating heart.

I feed it to this beast.
That demands you dehumanized.
pray I never see you in real life again.
fear that may be the last day I'm human.

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