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David Bojay Nov 2020
long night longing
what was, again
new beginnings
again
the train had stopped
got off to ponder in past obsessions
didn't know if they were healthy or not
but I dont think any of them are
a journey of steps impossible to take back
new loves with no special spark
i tend to think i've felt it all
that's what you made it seem like
how we created our past with nothing new to witness
at least that's how it seems
messages evaporated into thin ******* air
meaning nothing but everything to me
another night
longing for chances I can't even see anymore
longing for moments i'll never feel again
gone
gone
gone
like the wind that passes
old photos
still moments
i can't remember them all but i was grateful
filled with joy, nothing to regret
moments i can't seem to remember but will never forget
thank you
for caring for me
"me"
if there ever was one
an illusion to fall for
false hopes all along
because they should've never existed
i should've never hoped either
let me tell you the time
4:42 am
my eyes are droopy
my body
restless
thinking about this poem
more and more to express about someting that has died
an effect i can't ignore
something to remember
everything was once okay
and although, ultimately
everything still is
it would be better with you, by my side
darling
always
thinking about you behind emotion filled moments
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.

Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.

— The End —