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Elizabeth 18h
I used to be terrified
Lights on all the time
Even a glimmer
To keep it from enveloping
Me
My thought
So scared of blindness
A battle I fought
Many years
And yet now I stand
Eyes gouged out by fears
Seconds into months and into years
Standing on a precipice
Slipping back in darkness
Before Helen  passed on
we would take flowers to
her parent's graves at the
cemetery, one day while
Up there I pointed to the
the last line of recent grave's
and said to Helen
when
It's our time we will be
buried right at top of the
hill high above the last
the line of graves and we'd
have a lovely view from
up there of all of our home
town  Helen poor
girl
never made that hill and
as my ashes are to be buried
with Helen, I will not make
that hill
either.
Helen should lived long enough to have
been buried right at the of the hill and
me too but sadly not to be
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I look in the mirror and don’t recognize whoever is staring back.
I don’t remember the last time I saw myself there.
It must’ve been a long time ago.
I keep asking “what have you done with me?”
Or “what have you done with him?”
But I only get a question for an answer.
Somewhere in my travels, somewhere along the way.
Me and myself stopped, and I guess I decided to stay.
So please help me find him if you could,
I only know the name, I just can’t remember the face.
None
Waiting
saving
Saving for us
Saving for her
talking
Walking
walking alone yet,
On the phone
The distance feels smaller
Yet that made it farther
Isaac 7d
Compared to most creatures,
Our life on Earth is long.
The question is will we
Live full and finish strong?
Written 12 November 2018
You see I was I was
reading this book right
this real great book
and i had it in my hands
and im seeing this scene
that its describing
im not gonna go into the details
right now per se but im seeing it
in my head, you know
you know like how when
youre reading the words
but not really because they
are becoming blurred
and the picture just
kinda appears
in your brain
like you are living it,
like you are actually there
but you can't be
its just something that you see
without eyes
it blooms and engulfs the inside
of your mind
it opens the door and enters calmly
and makes it self at home, like a
painting on the wall
or or
like a number youve been meaning to call
do you see what im saying?

so that got me thinking, hear me out
you can imagine anything, yes i know duh
the pictures can sprout and bloom
become overgrown and be trimmed
maintained or treated with disdain
or with some good ole TLC,
really anything you want
a home a gnome a crystal phone
in Rome trapped on the wrong end of a honed
pearly white bone,
what does it mean oh let me tell you
i havent got a clue not one
but what about
a light you were shown when you were
younger but somehow still aware
that what you really need is somewhere
out there
or in there I should say,
does that mean something or does it
only hold significance because its your memory
of what you did when you were young
because right now you arent moving you arent seeing
anything you are just there with a blank stare
and if you measured the time that was lost
in this state it would be sad it would be
disappointing yeah if you watched it from the side
but from my view its fantastic i see lights
in different colors and see crystal worlds and
different others, thoughts borne of differing
mothers from different places
but all the same
down the same path
from the same origin,
its all really a walk down the map
to find your own x
but thats a discussion for another day
but as i was saying it could lead
to so many different places
filled with beautiful faces and cases
left shattered and broken on the ground
and everything is sound and safe
but then there is a clap or a pop
and bam you are awake, aware
that you were stuck staring into thin air
trying to see shapes  
awake awake awake
and then its all gone like an old song
that youve forgotten the words too
but sounds so so so so
familiar,
you know?
I make myself so happy for no reason then stick my own back,
melancholic acts of treason, cut and measure my own lesions;
a line between pleasure and pleasing.
Not an pessimist nor a type of optimist but a realist who has mastered the execution of delusion and illusion.
Oxymoronic, Guess I'm just human;

Apparently the semblance of a ***,
so making something from nothing isn't odd,
but I was given everything from a soul to my bones, hair to my toes;
Even to me who stays in this, sinew and ivory, home the reason is unknown but I know the weight of this form has its toll.

Ties made are rarly cut
more than the material is used,
bonds spirt imbued,
that which feeds hate and love.
My soul is the ocean my form the soil my mind the heavens so it's wisdom guides the toil.
What I put on to my body will seep to the sea, be it poisons or ointments that is to be seen, my wish for foresight seems obscene,
a noxious tint colors the scene
Ah this is but a show, how else can I explain the tragedies sown.

Who wrote this play?
No
Who paid its commission,
who conscripted us to suffer, no need for permission, no fine print played off as a simple omission?
Actors with no access to backstage
so it is do or die,
freedom in a cage,
the 4th wall blocks our eyes.
we get no reactions for our performance
no real feedback,
so we face our troupe like opponents, for no real reason.
Whilst some seem to flourish in a limelight others perish in darkness
some disappear through trap doors others fly with out harness.

seasoned thespians sometimes show us a way; how to perform our parts, from when they entered the play.
We are told there is a script, so I would say some have forgotten thier lines
but honestly the script has never passed these eyes,
all I know is that somes voices are drowned out by the soundtracks of anxiety and sadness;
The polyrhythms of fear and deafening sound of loneliness and madness
How could the director have this?

That's the purpose of a tragedy; make the watcher feel like they are living lavishly.

Wanted a reason why I find it so tragic.

In the words of Life 'There, you have it.'
Slam tracscribed. I've been reading some tragedies and re-realized that fact can be truly worse than fiction
Esther Ye Nov 5
dear nobody,
is it raining where you are?
miles north, where my heart once belonged
does your heart ache like mine?
could you possibly feel the pain in the atmosphere
when you reach out to feel the droplets?

was i just another raindrop to you
trying hard to capture my essence
in the palm of your hands
only for me to slip through your fingers
i felt invisible

i guess the flowers are blooming there again
eternal sunshine
it's the season of love after all
but why is it that the September rain
didn't wash away the pain you left in me?
jacarandas painted the world a shade of lilac
i wish feelings fade as quickly as the seasons change

you've got your good girls now
i hope you're happy
you probably don't think about me anymore
or do you?
was i ever in your dreams?
i don't know
the distance between us buried our love
six feet under

those lonely nights
the five-hour phone conversations
they were lifeline to me
how i wished you were right there beside me
how i wanted to hold your body close
but i feel nothing now
not even the ghost of you

o how ironic it is
that the last words i heard from you were
"i love you."

and how tragic it is
that you never heard me
say those 3 words back

smile, love
it will rain again
another pretty soul's going to captivate you
smile, love
i was never yours
and you were never mine.
I'll be your lady in another life, C.

@7:15am
26/09/2018
a hinterland
there has
corn and
orient ties
in court
with his
golden tight
sweater so
he'd cook
tempura right
with his
catch of
roughy 'bout
now and
in his
kind place
in Montauk
a place in montauk
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