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spiral-whirl Feb 2018
her words are where her heart is,
her eyes focused on ahead,
for the delicate petal has lost its stem,
running to find,
running to search,
however nothing seems to be there,
and the petal withers away.
bleh
Matthew Scott Harris (the second offspring and only son of
Boyce and the late Harriet Harris) made his unheralded debut on
a brutally cold January thirteenth almost three score years ago.
     His father - employed as a mechanical engineer with general
electric heard the powerful lungs of this gangly newborn prior to
being permitted to cradle said infant.
Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, this sole son spent the majority of his
fifty plus LIX existence within southeastern Montgomery County
Pennsylvania.
     Extreme shyness in tandem with a congenital speech defect
(submucous cleft palate) seemed to alienate him from other class
mates.
     As an outside neutral observer, I watched with gut when
ching agony how he seemed socially detached and rarely invited
to join in any reindeer games, rather mean kids balled their fists
and swung faux pas sucker punches to sleigh **** shay -
so they did say.
     Yes, a gross degree of taunting left him without friends.
     Lack of confidence and ultra reticence offered hue manna
tee to bullies.
     Matter of fact, this vulnerability, and susceptibility per
receiving verbal slings continued thru public education.
     He graduated without any vocational idea (despite an ignoble
attempt to fail - and yet got promoted nonetheless), and then
endured parental wrath equal ultimatums with a scathing expletive
filled lectures.
     The absence of clear-cut goals found him enrolling and with
drawing from countless colleges and/or universities.
     Delay with interpersonal success accompanied like a dark
shadow creeping closer to the edge of night.
ergsweet Feb 2018
Stop
Stop
Don't make me feel guilty. Don't give me those eyes. un
Run
I'll run from my problems. I know it's bad for me.
Look
Look
It's time to let me go. It's only going to hurt a little bit.
Close
Close
Stop looking for someone again. Stop trying to fill that hole.
No good
No good
It won't change anything. It won't heal you at all.
Not bad
Not bad
You can't demonize me. You can't make me feel worse.
Leave
Leave
I won't leave.
I won't leave.
I have to leave.
I have to leave.
This is a reeeaally old poem I wrote for this boy I likes at the time. Everything I said and did around him was bipolar.
she
is
hiding

she wears
an
Spider-Man costume
in
the
closet

she has the voice
of
an
bat-man
stealing
from
robins

she cooks me their eggs
her hot-plate personality
cooks them
over
easy

she comes from the closet
shooting webs
she webbed me
to the wall
she shoves her ******
in
my
mouth


this is all
we
know
?






















...
..
.
quit
...
..
.
Peter Bonvoisin Feb 2018
time is meaningless
yet ultimately
all that matters
runs by time

we race time
in the search for each other
without intention
running
side     by     side
looking the same way
it is my fervent hope that we're going the same speed
A A Feb 2018
My neglected duties lie in a heap on the floor, my head hurts as I stare down at them. So many.
And time? Fleeting.
I receive no sympathy from time. I evoke no empathy from my own conscience, nor fantasy.
All the unspoken words I’ve neglected to voice lie gentle on the nightstand.
And I sleep sound.
rmh Feb 2018
you always said that you love the chase
and, my darling, i'm no good at running
Airisgone Feb 2018
Isn't this feature amazing?
I said ever beaming.

Hurry,
Figure out the clues.

Time is ticking
As the blood is dripping

It's almost midnight
Goodbye, Cinderella.
Air is gone
Evi Dent Halo Jan 2018
Running from something

Noises in shade

Shape shadow

Covered in sounds name,

Speak in creaks...

...hear: and wonder what if:

It came up behind you... and held you in grip.

A thing of dark

Undiscovered, never seen

Perhaps grown in the fertile soil

Of runaway dreams.

~

So run through the courtyard

And pray the door opens,

And isn't the cavern

To the mouth in it's head.

So run through the courtyard!

And feel the door open

Just pray it isn't

To the mouth in it's head.
PFP (Running) v2 (12/29/17-)
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