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Renée Brookes Feb 2017
You can see it all from my window;
open wide, no blinds,
all at my window.

The show has begun.
Every night I headline,
dress then rewind; so fine.

Moonlight on skin;
sin invites our minds.
You strive to remain in hide,
outside my window.

Lust drives me and you.
Slow, ribbons flow down to my shoes;
heels, a seductive red.

On my bed, I relax.
Be my witness to ******,
from outside my window.
D Feb 2017
cross my heart and hope to die
without a trace and no goodbye
I'll leave you gaping with a hole in your chest
I stole the one thing you gave freely and yet
woefully in denial you scrape up whats left
which wont be much as I took all you had
you search and search but
you're always two steps back
you stop and remember how I use to laugh
how I use to kiss you and stare into your eyes
if only, you say, you had known they were lies
cross your heart and hope to die
you vow to find me or perish trying
The Con Artist of the Heart's Pov
(Inspired by the new TV Show Impostors)
Mysidian Bard Feb 2017
We both read our scripts,
but we're not on the same page.
You and I are just actors
who treat life as the stage.

We rehearse our lines,
but they're not what we mean,
for once lets break character
and call cut on this scene.

We could steal the show
if we rewrite the play
and end the charade
of this macabre matinee.

We've reached the finale,
there's no encore after all.
This is our shot,
our last curtain call.
AMcQ Jan 2017
The draping curtain draws back
revealing a dimly lit set.
The cast scuffle backstage
in their daily quarrel.
I wish their din would cease.
The lights awaken,
Silhouettes of exasperated
hands come into view.

"A Comedy, it must be".
"Satire, surely, is what she needs".
"No, no, another Tragedy".
"Lets sing and dance; fill her with glee".

"Can we not do this again",
comes the voice of Reason.

Meanwhile, the protagonist;
She waits 'till the eleventh hour
to know of the script.

*It's all an act, at the end of the day!
Jellyfish Jan 2017
The lights are dim,
Smoke is filling the room
He sits and watches this cowboy show
And I am writing this poem with wet hair.

Wow, I never thought I'd see jack from titanic in a cowboy hat.
Michelle Garcia Jan 2017
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.


Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.


The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.


Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.


When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.


Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.


This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.
Joshua Dougan Dec 2016
At a comedy show where a man got stabbed.
It wasn't funny, herded like cattle and expected to dance.
In the throes of Vegas, we had grown so blatant.
Today wasn't the day, we would not be caged in.
At a comedy show where an old man had to be dad.
Nepotism opens the show in the form of a jam kind of band.
Cackled like he's 80, shackled to the 80's with a tan
A man with few fans but still a brand that was most hated; sans man.
"A comedy show where we laugh with our friends." A tag attracts to no end.
Take a chance on the awfully droll. A trance with no chance.
Happening during happenstance
His play of status is just subject to show of mirror
As he takes him the most innocent person around
So that clarity touches him and he should not blur
Man who touches sky is not even fit to be on ground

His character is as Satan has got his abode just in him
Seller of sisters and daughters portrays to be religious
Full of darkness carries candle light wavering and dim
In the world of devils he remains vicious and callous

Double death will take him to his eternal ***** abode
No song of honor or departure he deserves to be sung
Like a dog or ***** will die ordinary death on the road
Angels will drag to dirt for his ***** intentions ,tongue

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
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