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Spike Harper Dec 2019
Will never come close to when.
Because every memory made together.
Swept us into the timelessness that we provided eachother.
It was a fluid river turned rapid.
But somehow ended up in the thinning rings of ours irises.
Cradled by the sincere promises.
Unchained with razor words which cut so deep.
We never thought to mend the wounds that kept bleeding trust.
A termite that would one day bring down the love we built upon such stable foundation.
But the story doesnt end there.
Not because our path remained one.
Not because we don't know we are supposed to be together.
But because of how for a brief period..
We did what so many others will never be able to do.
Looking past all the cheesy...
All the cliché over the top can't get enough of eachother while taking so many pictures.
That one could recount every day for months at a time without missing.
This tale will go on because knowing paradise for just that small amount of time.
Has left a choppy stutter to grow from my throat.
Coating the real.
Into a reanimated rerun of imperfection.
That I have cursed myself to meander upon..
The only thing keeping this tattered mess afloat.
Is the knowledge that maybe one day..
Far into the future.
I might get a chance to rectify my decision.
Maybe one day.
I'll make her smile again.
I love you.
You owe me nothing and I won't expect you to feel the same if and when we find eachother again...but know that I will always be thinking of you. Always.
Spike Harper Oct 2019
What has changed.
Surely it must be plain to see.
Rooting oneself in anything but this moment.
Is one way to certainly spell disappointment.
Too many days spent autographing pages.
Like a name makes the man.
Or perhaps.
So that the past can only condemn its owner.
Destined to be a heretic of life itself.
A hidden transgression cant hurt those it does not reach.
Then why is it chained through the bone.
Chasing daylight like the moon.
Slowly the wound festers deep and driven.
Don't you know.
These ailments take on a mind for themselves.
why else would we create them if not to one day speak.
It is the stone that shatters a paradigm.
The avalanche brought down by a whisper.
Or rather a whimper.
Yet there can be no tears here.
Not when this creations time was set.
Don't be fooled by negligence wearing the mask of ignorance.
But first its time to put down the blame.
For there is no one else in the room....
...And that laughing was beginning to irritate.
Spike Harper Sep 2019
Can you smell it.
The static in the air.
Clinging to all it can.
As her strength fades too fast.
But then Flying always..
Never lasted long enough.
Sliding past obstructions like they were excuses.
Only stopping to look at the roses when someone else points out their beauty.
Yes, they are just flowers.
Yet they know rejection more than any person.
For they will only get chosen once.
But until then they must watch millions of faces go by in silence.
Then as they are put to their final use.
Some may get placed away for safe keeping.
Placed between rows and columns on either side.
Windows that can be made  into anything.
The Pressure is immense.
One can only hope to retain form with as little decay as possible.
Transforming into the only page without words.
Ask the ink if they know the scent to which they will  lie down for all eternity.
Only there is no answer that would comfort those unwilling to sacrifice.
Give up what matters most.
Because standing here means it was already done.
So what else is there to give.
But pages depicting what could not be found.
The line to insanity and enlightenment has never been such a blur.
Hopefully this trail provides the later.
Although if it is not to be.
Its doubtful you would remember even asking the question.
Spike Harper Jun 2017
any one person can withstand pain.
But there is a subtle difference.
When it isn't registered..
Like a dream that alludes the recently awoken.
For the moment is always questioned as fiction when it comes about.
As if building a freeway over the desolation would bypass the isolated incident.
With every pass does it become so.
And yet it is ever so aparrent.
Like a splinter made of ice.
For when the initial trauma fades.
The cold.
Sets in.
Making every other impalement go unnoticed.
Picking at old scars with phantom limbs.
Visible only to other ghouls.
Which have sadly become the only contact available.
And neither the shadow nor the image it belongs to are recognizable.
And this room full of strangers gains an addition to its ever changing painting.
One that will inevitably be painted over.
For it has become not only a constant.
But a certainty.
One that will be upheld.
Regardless if this hand helps it.
Or not...
Spike Harper Apr 2017
Wilted leaves overpopulate the ground.
And no tree as far as eyes can perceive.
So far from home.
So close to anywhere.  
But here.
A statement that can be heard any second of any given day.
This moment in time.
A random fraction of the incessant routine.
Dreaming or awake.
It all depends on feel.
Not logic.
And even then the rules of both worlds must be learned regardless.
Who is there to say that one's understanding of the environment  is incorrect.
Everything down to the information that the eyes process reside in the brain.
I think so therefore I am.
And yet even this comes into question regularly.
The longer one stays in this world.
Less and less questions are answered.
But one thing can definitely be found regardless of intention.
One must learn to swim through the viscous muk of disappointment.
To grasp at enlightenment.
Or be insane enough to not care.
For words can never be unseen.
Sharper than any blade.
Even more blunt than a boulder.
Can the wrong words be.
One cant go through life without first being initiated through pain.  
And even after its not promised that happiness will follow.
With so many eyes weighing down in expectation.
Its hard to focus.
On any point.
It may always seem..
Mikey Pooler Oct 2016
I often dream of a faceless queen. We own a small apartment, we laugh, we drink, and spend our time creating art within the four walls of a small room on a large bed. We’d go out with the sole destination of adventure. Make memories together and build a bond never to be severed. I often dream of a faceless queen. One day I hope to wake up from this dream to a Queen, with a smile that’s not so faceless to me.
-Mikey the Poet
Mikey Pooler Aug 2016
My only talent is breathing

Your only talent is leaving

Talent as leaving me

You stole my only talent
now I'm talentless

Yet a talent kept
a talent with pride you possess

You got quite a talent for leaving

I lost balance when you left

I lost talent when you left

I just wish you were leaving my breathe

But I'm a talentless mess
you're leaving with my talent

I just want one last breathe.
Mikey the Poet
Mikey Pooler Jun 2016
There can be a bad hour
in a good morning

There can be a bad morning
in a good day

There can be a bad day
in a good week

There can be a bad week
in a good month

There can be a bad month
in a good year

I know sometimes we all go through
bad times

In those bad times we think we live
a bad life

But as our clocks tick and they wind
you'll look back on your life

Realizing that in life there are
bad times

But count up all of the
bad times

In your lifetime you'll realize that life is
full of bad times

But all those bad times don't add up to a
bad lifetime
Mikey Pooler Jun 2016
I cleansed myself of my bad habits.

I cleansed my lies with the truth.

Day by day our love fought, until year number two.

My fear of losing you was the roof,

Our lips met I wish they'd have stuck together like glue.

I was ready to take the leap to the deep oceans blue,

You opened the door just for me to walk through.

Saying the type of love I wish for isn't with you.

Desperate for company on my lonely walk home,

I lit a cigarette if only I'd known...

I thought cleansed my bad habits if only I knew,

To cleanse my bad habits I had to cleanse myself from

Mikey the Poet
Mikey Pooler Apr 2016
Somewhere in between
what I want - what I need

Somewhere in between
should I stay -should I leave

Somewhere in between
to pray - dust off my knees

Some who care are in between
committing crimes - pursuing  dreams

Somewhere out there I'd like to believe
that life's somewhat fair but-

Some reach out for love and-
catch nothing but air

I guess my kindness is a kind of genius
that's -

Somewhat rare.

I lust to meet other like minded souls -
They must be out there

-Mikey Pooler the Poet
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