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Keebo Jan 14
“She’s dead! Wrapped in plastic”
But her spirit is in the red room, waiting
The dream man offers her a comforting hand
As she dulls on the horror show of the past
The angel who went ashtray has returned
To take her peacefully away
She breaks down and cries but laughs at the same time
Because after a life of never feeling good enough
Wanted or truly loved
Seeing an angel made her feel worthy
Laura is the happiest she’ll ever be
A Twin Peaks poem here...more based on the final scene in FWWM as it’s so hauntingly beautiful
Marta Dec 2019
Two men stood in front of me –
One he used to be and one he is now.
One of them told me: “I’m the lesser of two evils,”
But the other reminded: “You and I, we’re not that different.”

A slight fear ran up and down my spine,
I loved them both but could not decide.
I looked them in the eyes, so blue and so dark,
Their gaze left a heart-shaped mark.
A man stood in front of me –
“I’m the lesser of two evils,” he said.
I took him to the grave where she was laid
And for the first time he was finally able to see
That Laura Palmer was actually me.
krm Aug 2017
You spoke to me in a dream,
voice like honey,
"The angels won't save someone with so much devil in them."

Nights of bumming cigarettes
off men too old, who should know better.
Welcoming the darkest of us with a thin smile,
all opalescent.

Lost yourself in poker chips,
another wager on the poker table.
Some middle aged man's fantasy-
legs spread like Russian roulette,
who would go with you?
Appealing the sin inside of your bones,
you locked your demons in a box.

It's not your fault,
you were murdered.
you were chosen-
this world tends to expire on
a girl with an imbalance of hedonism & an angelic temperament.

Beauty can lead us to truly dangerous places;
those veins belong to you,
but BOB wants to bury himself underneath your skin.

Seashells mixed with bits of sand
clung to your ocean blue skin,
your lips looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry I wasn't myself"
- the town's patron saint

Early morning,
clouds shine down
on your still frame,
like a movie scene-
it's cold,
but you've always been a fan of snow
snowflakes touch your nose
in a light dust of blow.

Did you ever really live?
Or had you already been a ghost?
Of who they all had come to love and adore.
Expressing adoration for the Twin Peaks character, Laura Palmer.
Coop Lee Nov 2015
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
                                                                ­                      / praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.

her body brings a swarm of worms.
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.

look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.

new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.

there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.

lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.

the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?

guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Phoebe Seraphine Jan 2015
Blondie is true blue, wrapped in plastic,
tied together with a cherry pie on top.
Enter agent, in the mood for ****** or
dutiful doughnuts and coffee (**** fine.)
A saccharine soprano sings Roadhouse
while a log teems with secrets only
owls observe. The one-eyed recluse draws
cotton ball curtains hiding cinereal skies
that saturate such opaque peaks.
The giant speaks of a small town tempest.
Magic rustlings in the Black Lodge
bring on the dark dream, a wobbly man
talks gobbledygook like a VHS tape in reverse.
The fire they speak of is not fire, but sometimes
her arms bend back. Bitter BOB ballroom dances
with a too cool for school, sock-hop-hopped-up
babe in a red room, redrum romance.
Has anyone been on earth the last few weeks?

— The End —