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AE Dec 2020
Shades of burnt orange and saffron
in clusters between the clouds,
the coolness of the atmosphere
brought ease to my swollen eyes
the bitterness on my tongue washed away
as if caramel was poured into the sky,
sweetness inhabited my lungs
and I uttered...

سُبْحَانَ الله
Jordan Gee Aug 2020
A swollen sun descends upon us.
small children at play with painted faces.
time is not an endless tick, one and then another
(the plague nearest our dwelling)
but a single broad and present moment stretching
out and on forever.
sometimes i feel my heart will burst
scattered about, then gathered up in a world of rag and bone.
seeds for the great harvest are but a payment for a
karmic debt -
a purple heart sacrifice of my broken hand -
a slice from stem to stern.
my eyes they sink into my head.
the world is a deep grey beneath the deep stars.
the constant chatter in the skull -
a fallen angel named Moroni.
my sunken eyes watch me lift the bad hand
the heathen of my good intentions -
the purple heart of a bad apostle
the shackles of my station
the facing of certain destruction within the grim Hallway of Anubis.
a single moment stretching on forever and a balancing of the heart.
a swollen sun descends upon the third circle of Hell -  a place where I no longer live.
written 27aug2018
JAM Jan 2020
There once was a girl who played the fife,
Looking at her filled my ****** with strife.
She played me a tune,
And I swelled like a balloon,
Now that girl is my wife.
Marri Nov 2019
It’s not me, It’s you.
It always was,
And how could I be surprised?

All along, it was you.
Only you, no one else.

Now all that’s left is   me.

Broken as ever.
With eyes still swollen from the night before,
Tear stained cheeks,
And an epiphany in my mind.

Maybe, It was me.
Or you.
Or us.

But eventually it was no one.

It was the empty spaces in your   speech.
It was the stutter in your breath.
It was you.

It was the missed calls.
It was the arguments.
It was me.

Or maybe   it   was  us.
                  Falling         (apart).
gray Feb 2019
I'll scrawl pages of your name
because every way the letters turn make my eyes burn
The night you told me i was your favorite slur
My name has turned into something i never want my children to learn
Sweet salt drips from your lips
You speak in compliments and quotes
A personality made from mistakes
I keep giving and you always take
But never more than you need
a feeling of everlasting trust
Praggya Joshi Sep 2018
The colour of
My throbbing
And swollen heart
no longer resembles
The colour of
Your dusty red lips
It matches the
Colour of my
large dilated pupils
And the colour of
your capriciously moving
flickering obsidian
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