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Decra Kerubo Jun 2019
He held my hand,
Whispers moved
"no more time left "
That was a heartbeat
I escaped

Momma hugged me
She kissed my forehead
"no more men out there "
I turned on the radio,
My own voice sounded
"you are no more"

And I dance with the tune,
Nothing more,
I gat no place here
No more
Xyns Jun 2017
4 lines down
Half a gram to go
Sorrows drowned
Becoming hooked on *blow
The rise and fall of our music seemed to synthesize into the light of the room. Our voices seemed to grow inside of us, padded with memories and laughter, growing full with the alcoholic nourishment, until all at once, it would bubble over into a crescendo. It was sharp and soft, harsh and tender, filling our ears with colors we had forgotten to remember in the corpse of the last few days. The staccato bite of reality brought the symphonies down to piano sobs that lulled the night into its dream. The room had a haze, golden in its familiarity, but the tune on the books was not quite right, the time signature gone. The rhythm was unsure; even the conductor pacing wildly about, looking up only to hear the echo of a waltz he once danced to in jubilee, with the promise of a life ahead. The music was now faded, on a greyscale, just like the wedding album. Only he could hear the melodies that had pulled him beyond the brink of love, under the threshold of its great fortissimi. He was content to have it play as the score to his remaining years, muffled and muddled, refusing to rest in his harmonious love affair. Unfamiliar with his own melody, his voice was shy, shaking, and broken. The audience sat, waiting to hear the sounds that could come from the maestro, straining in a beg to hear hope.
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
Easter man
Can you loan me a gram
This is not the time to take a stand
Put some of that **** in my hand
With it I will sift through time's sands
Letting my mind expand
As I pace back and forth over these lands
Please don't misunderstand
It's only what the monster commands
This was completely unplanned
Now my ship is unmanned
AD Mullin Dec 2014
Aaron: "Hi, I'm Aaron and I'm a (recovering) misogynist"

All: "Hi Aaron. Welcome!"

Aaron: "I wonder how much longer we can **** and pillage the feminine with a clear conscience?"

All: "Who has a clear conscience?"

Crowd: A few raise their hands . . . more than you would think . . .

Gestapo for Good: Furiously taking notes . . .

Aaron: "I don't know what you're gonna do about it, I don't even know what I'm gonna do about it . . ."

All: "You don't need to know, just don't shut out that feeling"

Aaron: "I'll do my best"

All: "Then you are"

Aaron sits down
Bill stands up

Bill: "Hey, hey, hey I'm Fat Albert" *(in a sad clown voice)
An ode to ironing (or straightening things out) . . . you know ~ women's work! Inspired by the Grandmothers and Sharon McErlane and just about every woman and many men that I've known!

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