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Poetic T Feb 9
We are the virtues of natures
                           measurements.
No matter the strength that portray ,
                            we are each but wind.

Captured in a singular episodes
that collects

                                within a series of




cyclone syllables.


              And each is more vocal.
                 causing more destruction with


meanings that was expelled before.



Weep on the condensation that falls,
                 for the breath that collects after
                 will carry you further
      

Than any that fell in subjugation
                               before any verse...

where all wind in an eclipse of motions,
                      also surpassing every falling..
what
rich generation
we
own
the key
to scratch

anything you
could touch
with your
pathetic
hands
tryn
touch me
beyond this
rich generation
?













...
..
.
noted
...
..
.
I'm genius!
I know!
You know!
You saw it!
But those who diagnosed me
tore away my faith
and yours
at least in me.
Who's the sick one?
me
for
the
wrong
answer
she
left
with
an
question
?













­...
..
.
to me
and
mostly me
here
am
i
in
this
silence stalking
moonbeams turn
tasting wine glass
glanced
here
am
i
in
be
tween
both glaces
catch me here
like breath
dances
what
say
you
to
me
?
...
..
.
buisness
of
known
nightime
escapes
never
me
...
..
.
Austin Heath Dec 2014
I dropped a bag of free muffins
on your shins and the cat
freaked out on top of you
ran off, and knocked over your water.

You're such a ******* stiff
you might as well have
rigor mortis.

Gorgeous though.

So I tried to be nice,
but I laughed too ******* the inside,
and I'm probably
never apologizing.

If you're looking for one,
*******, buttercup.
I got fuel to burn
and I'm saving my remorse
for the people I've ****** over
worse
and you ain't topping that
totem pole.
Dee Bach Jul 2014
When your alone
the fear creeps back
reminding you,
your alone, no one knows,
the pain inside, just wanting to
meet one who understands what
its like to be tagged,
and to be the only one with the tag,
some genetic mutation
not inherited, in a sea of people
you, the mutation
almost like your
a science project gone bad.
The stares, the words
all blending into one word,
not remembering all that is said
forgetting the important words
conversations slipping not
remembering
lost.
Austin Heath May 2014
This tattoo is slowly becoming
an ironic advertisement.
I'm just here.
Writing.
For Christ's sake, if this is how
we make our art, we're all ******, huh?
Austin Heath May 2014
My reflection can't bear to look me in the eye.
Dirt bag.
They called me **** bag because they
couldn't see a sack of ****.
Thoughtlessly counter-intuitive.
Rhyming is worse than mediocre,
and beyond being forced into the sublime.
Blind folded and arms tied,
with salvation on it's lips;
Maniacally insane.
A campaign for liars, killers,
and something divine.
I never had a beautiful dream, or
a nightmare that wasn't in color.
I'm unprepared for everything,
especially whatever comes next.

— The End —