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Carolina Oct 2018
The new car is a facade,
you can see it in his smirk;
there's a black tar soul
under its white bodywork.
He sells his demons
under a snowy form,
he finds his peace
on a green heavy storm.
No one has ever
know him very well
but they know
he's related to a cartel.
He has lots of fun,
too may things he enjoys,
not realizing
he's the devil's toy.
But I think he's the evil,
as cruel as can be.
He preaches his word
of magnetic philosophy.
You're cough just for fun.
Glowing sparks in aquamarine.
Comfy sea-scent room,
you wish to stay in.
You get a sugar rush
every time you see him.
Waiting for his company,
not the best way of being free.
You sit there beside him,
pretend to rely.
He offers you something,
you don't have to pay.
Tho his soft touch
turns your skin into concrete
you find yourself at his door
dying to repeat.
Philip V Jul 2018
I am overcome with a sense of dread
An honest feeling I have never felt
It lingers and it strays
But it always comes to me
In a moment of clarity
I grabbed it
To set it free

If I weren’t so caught in the act
Of thinking what I should do next
I might have lived differently
I might have sounded out a spontaneous
Yes

To the question of taking leaps
Swimming in the seas
Where no feelings had to be hurt
To be seen

I could’ve been an addict
Or a Michelin chef
I could have fallen for sporadics
Been a sycophant for antics

But remembering fake days
Is what I live for now
Not as sad as it seems
I just wish I had followed
A better dream
Mark Parker Mar 2017
Listen up, caviling charlatans.
Forgo the sporadic rebuff,
luminous is the dark
and shaded is the light,
the path to endless days.

If the vagabond's respite
is fraught with retribution,
why continue in shambles,
instead, covet his ways.
Don't lament the shadows,
cry for illuming rays.
....It's been in my mind for a while. This is the best way to say it that I can construct.
sweet ridicule Feb 2016
I can't walk in
flowered printed heels
I've watched you study yourself in
the mirror
steady neck leading down to
gentle shoulders and halcyon hands
sour ideas filling my brain I'm
imagining my hands
sweetening your concerned
soft-muscled legs
into certainty
bronze-brown strands of curly hair
on dark grey seats
I sense dancing trees behind me
and savor the beautiful bitterness
of abyssal secrets
on my saccharine tongue
your collar bones are silken
and veiled with Taurus-led
misunderstandings.
mine are always veiled with
uncertainty and
sporadically veiled with
you
this was nice to write

— The End —