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Alexander Foe Dec 2018
When my hands
succumb into numbness,
When my feet
descend into paralysis,
Would it catch your sight?

Will my little whimper
fading into silence,
Would it touch gently down
on your ears?

When the last
Spirit and Breath
Dissipates

Will anyone bat an eye?
Would it mean anything

Around the cacophony, as I die?
Jonathan Surname Aug 2018
To the limits!
And the heaves are harmed, in our lungs
and arms. Tendons flexed on their utmost,
and breath at play in the drowned coast.

To the shores!
And the leaves are left as specks of colour,
from the moors.
and vacations left the hinterlands
of the decayed, breathless holler.

For the greater good we stood as imagined heroes,
Yet for happenstance to lend a chance in our woes,
required a great many motifs
to clamour and climb
In glamourous time
to the raised butte
of a finishing sublime.

Modulate the past and harmonize the future.
Together tapestry'd, akin to patchwork suture.

We weren't raised this way.
To remain forever at play, workhorses neigh.
And sawing brilliance and sawdust eyes,
rapier wit with no equal.
But together a two-parter,
to the shores to see the sea quell.

Wildfire lick like lit flame.
Burn it all down and give me the blame.
It's a carried burden worth the worry.

In mountains some exist as prideful barons.
Barring the loss of their barren,
their smiles turn smirks of heathen carrions.
Which is fine, and the motif licks again.
And the motive is sublime; it's only sin.

Cherish the children and their rue of thresher-born,
Thomas Ligotti and his party of philosophy,
but I'm too caught in histrionics to allow the matter
to matter.
Beyond the kicking feet of the mirthful pitter-patter,
pitted against the coming solstice of time saving;
forward and back and ouroboros we may.
Hold on tight to this singular day.
Ignorant of the causes of our own decay.
Lost during summers covered in spittle and seaspray.
Only to mount a return, a loss,
to the area most unaccepting of the cost.

To the mountaintops!
**** what you see, and reap what you sow.
Push the mountains down into the crow,
and call out for the all the denizens below,
"Here's another landslide." As you call; Heave, and **.
Pile them neat and plant a seed,
of a tree that hasn't belonged or had a chirped song
in a placidity.
Awareness for a dying region

https://i.imgur.com/qUkjevo.jpg
rage
rage
rage
maintain
the
rage
for the one who saw
so fit to obliterate
such magnificent lights
from the page's plate

let
not
the
rage
ever
subside
keep
it
going
in
a
spirited
stride

rage
rage
rage
protest
the
rage
against the removal
of those gifted amps
their lambent works
were of stellar lamps

show
the
dark
prince
our
passionate
dissent
as
we
rage
on
with
rebuke's
discontent

rage
rage
rage
Oskar Erikson Apr 2016
I thought when
our friendship began,
I 'd start to see a pattern, a plan
but.
Calls at 3 AM with teardrops
down the receiver,
spouting nonsense like-
"Why oh why did i leave her?"

Were not expected.

I welcomed them sure,
but never had I handled this before.
This traumatic tirade of-
listless lovers that'd-
surround you suddenly.

But was now expected.

Then, at 5 in the morning
I noticed.
Your mouth. Breath had stopped drawing.
As you stared at your mural
you whispered "Tribunal"

Thus began your attack.
Hacking, blood drawn, across
what was our sofa. Now torn.

No more was that mural that tilted
that wall ever so slightly.
As for me?

I left the room quietly.
I'd never of guessed someone could flip so fast

— The End —