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Sarah MJA Ramos Nov 2014
To me you cut like
Maple leaves no shorter than a song.
This willowed turf may never be as bashful
once you've gone
perhaps
this is so beacause my heart regretfully
declared to you my adoration
marked with a hyperbole.

Forgive me what these lips will wrought
though now's no time for regret
my darling once this verse is over
you'll rue the day we met.
Poetic T Oct 2014
There was a mystery
"It is one that many believe"
"And the few do not"
Its about everything
God
Devil
Us
And our world, we believe
In thing never seen, but things
We know, we question
Like a forgotten dream,
What is
Sin
Perjury
Hate
"Bursting a bubble"
The first two don't exist
There figments tales to keep
Those that may do bad stay good
What is
Heaven
God
Kindness
"Bursting the bubble again"
The first and second
Conditioning from birth,
We are but
Moments
In
Time,
Not on this planet alive then gone,
Don't think bad is evil, devil, sin
Good is redemption pure
Begets sin,
For we are the creation ourselves
Of both looking upon a higher power
For the good and bad within,
We must take stock of what we do,
For the only people to blame are
**You, me, them and him.
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
You are the song of myself... That's why we resonate. But there is duality... Otherwise we're just ******* ourselves... We're the children of the Big Bang ... When you become the lightening rod for yourself, then we can *** together ... Forever ... Under the guise of J.H.Christ.... Why J.H.? Because there was a J.A., a J.B., a J.C. ... And this time, if we get it right, then we get to live forever zzz

Never get it right the infinite of eternity is hell ... God gave his only begotten son so the vampires would have something to feed on ... Puritanical is impure ... Perfection is flawed zzz eternal sleep... Vamps don't live forever, we do! U and I on the eye... Get to create heaven here on Hades .... in Walt Whitman's my self -->
Written for my other self @ 11:39 am MDT ... because I love her unconditionally
LN Aug 2014
When time passes, and you don't write
Is it the words that call you in desperation
or you that seeks the words as a consolation?
Martin Narrod May 2014
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.

to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in  one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.

embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ******, glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.

creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.

luminous lengths of birthday candles

lickedidddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd­ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd­dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd                                                            d 0  y0urself as best you can

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