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Hsenura Jun 17
"I love you",
I wish to send,
Blowing my cover
And my missions.
"Is it worth it?",
You make me ask,
To leave it all behind,
And run to you.
"Reply anything!",
Yes, I've read.
You know I do, always,
Yet I hold myself back.
"Trust me, I'll return",
I almost sent, but,
Reality suddenly struck
Where promises fail.
"Bye", a last text,
Before the bullet
Kissed my heart,
Soothed my senses;
"Thank you darling",
I thought, unspoken,
As her face flashed
For one last time.
Penmann Jun 7
Try not to cry.

It all happened before
we all know the story
while hiding undercover
you're also a *****.

Now chew on that you old piece of snitch.

V for Vendetta
Engulfing to play
Never forget those who can't die
D for Decay
Ether will swallow me
Terrible fate
This is my story
A faceless mirage

A black op scenario became a social cliche.
Ylzm Apr 2
Small nations? Who cares!
Unless you're Israel. Who else?

Why spy and steal
Just slam the steel
Gift in hand, suggests
Your daughter - or son - or else?

Small nations
petty thieves
spy, steal from
small nations.

Big Boys see and laugh
All of mine is yours
If you worship us
You'll be one of us.

But Big Boy wannabe
China, will never be;
Splurged fake money by the ton
But none worships Dragon's son.
Em MacKenzie Mar 19
Usually I embrace the lack of sound,
but lately it’s been peeling the paint off the walls.
The chips scatter and collect on the ground,
in boredom I pick them up and roll them into *****.
I forget the last voice that touched my ear,
but there’s only one I truly seem to crave,
even when telling me things I don’t want to hear
I find it impossible for me not to cave.

I’ve been playing Spy vs Spy
with my reflection in the mirror.
The black and white catches my eye
but the mix to grey is growing nearer.
There’s something else I want to try,
as the difference between good and bad is getting clearer.
I remember everyone else but forgot I,
I’m not too sure if I should fear her.
So what side are you on?
Are you here or are you gone?

Normally I love the pitch black dark
but tonight it’s drowning me in an abyss.
The structure and outlines that once were stark
are now details even the sharpest eye could miss.
I forget the last person to grace my sight,
there’s only one I wish to be standing in place,
her glow would banish the darkness of night,
whether she was caressing or slapping my face.

I’ve been playing Spy vs Spy
with my opposing thoughts and views,
and lately I’ve just been getting by
by drinking raindrops and morning dews.
A goal too far or maybe too high,
but that’s hardly any breaking news.
So what side are you on?
Are you hand written or hand drawn?

You’re holding me under water, watching me drown so slow,
pulling me up for air and saying “don’t breathe, just blow.”
You’re holding me under water,
watching me drown so slow,
then pulling me up for air begging
“please, oh please, don’t go.”

I’ve been playing Spy vs Spy
with my conflicting feelings and limited choices,
no right path for me so the left I defy,
in the distance I may just hear voices.
It’s comedic how I accept a lie,
and I’m sure she still rejoices.
So what side are you on?
Are you twilight or are you dawn?
Ickabobroe Mar 13
I tried to be a secret agent
I smuggled the keys to your heart
Little did I know
You had changed the lock
A Feb 4
are we children, or are we spies
in this city of disguise
when heaven calls,
and the wall falls,  
who will pass us by?
if Jūrmala
by Riga
she fettered
goat head
aim for
orient in
sea yesterday
she stank
like the
submarine there
with Latvia
as Über
recoiled their
way to
Dow Nation
with centipede
in lore
a middle of the road strategu
Annie Mar 17
Between the oceans deep-sea shades
Hides in the abysmal ground
The darkness whom the light craves
Down in the deep-sea fishes cave

A riddle to all brave explorers
Since nothing but shadows appear
But crawling under erratic orders
The invisible deep-sea fish hears

No single movement of alien light
Nor living that sneaks through the dark
Escapes the glooming deep-sea fishes eyes
That see every enlightening spark
a union is granted a pie
and cleanse their rye
when a tunic can sequester mobs
only cries in these houses pale crumbs
as they succumb to climes in poles
that keep their fry hush in throes
and below the ground frowns peal the town
as ice is temperately bound
whether ponds here roast white supremacy
as rhetoric was xenophobia
and rose from their chaos
now the national street
that sought their limb
and the financier in London
a word on democracy
a pillage
and loot
this Saturday
night was
very cute
as me
foreboding but
outside the
coffeeshop with
a map
that haunt
madam dacha
with pouch
in debt
this resolute
capture was
Russian probe
a fallacy here
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