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Do you weep,
For those you ****?
Do you feel cold,
Without your second soul?
In the house of the living.
It is like being dead,
But never being able to die.
On the surgeons table.
When you go,
will the dead pass me by?

You opened up.
The bee and the blooming flower bud.
You slammed your petals shut.
Its mouth does not speak,
Therefore, its heart shall cease to beat?
Why does it matter to you?
It belongs to me.
I stole its air,
That makes it free.

Hung it from an umbilical cord,
Tied around a broken crescent moon.
Who knew that its home,
Would be the place to call its tomb.

Sang the carols of the needle man,
Now you hold a dead heart in your hand.
The air around screams ****** ******,
Seeing you through a blood-stained mirror.

A stranger wearing your skin.
Dead inside the home it made within.
A stranger wearing your skin.
Buried inside your human coffin.
Can you hear me,
Is anyone out there?
It is hard to hear,
The trees whistle too loud here.
a thousand i miss yous linger
in the sky, stubborn clouds that they
are. but i am not tall enough,
nor can i reach high enough to
bring them down and spill them upon
the floor for you. so they remain
there, unspoken, unrained, unloved.
Petrie Aug 17

Ok before,

Better with.

But I don't know that I'll ever be Ok after...

So much put into such a temporary thing.

And now I'm left to think about what was,

And to fail repeatedly at trying to heal

I don't think I will ever be Ok... again.
Selfish are the flames of the candles,
They don’t want to share their light.
They are waiting for miracles,
In the coldness of the bitter night.

The light will come,
When it suits them.
They are giving,
When they are receiving.

Bare the light for those who wish to seek it,
Hold the hand of darkness and bring it into the light.
All your cards are black,
And all your thoughts are white.
All the colors you see,
Are found in an old movie.
This pallet of thought renders you blind.
The world is made of many shades,
Stop thinking in one hue.
And think of the entire spectrum,
That is screaming out at you.
Amanda Noel Jul 27
I need to remind myself  
that there is desire to keep,
the picture they can paint me to be.

going further in the lines,  
tears apart the design,
pulls threads from the spine,
separates the binds,
exposes the disguise.

cutting connectivity, while
murdering the mystery.

Leaving me just as lonely as  
when they only knew,  
the picture they painted me to be.
I love to sleep with both eyes wide open,

So I can catch my dreams in the real world.

Maybe I just made all this up in my head.

I have written the truest story never told.

I dared to laugh at a joke nobody spoke.

Disembarking the coattails of a trail of smoke.

Where's my car?

I forgot where I parked.

I am lost,

In this labyrinth of thought.

But it is okay.

Maybe this is where I am meant to be,

A place made by me.
Oscar Jun 22
i picked up so many of your pieces,
i made a house from the ruins of your life.
like a lava lamp, we blazed and bubbled;
we rose to the top, just bubbles in a jar.
u say tomato i say i want to die
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