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Tabitha May 2014
Late night conversations about sweet nothings,
I feel as though he is just -something,
Something so goofy and unique,
I smile from ear to ear as he speaks,
I stay up almost the entire night and day,
It would be easier if he were to be next to me and stay,
He says we practically read each others' minds -telepathy,
I can go on and on about his sympathy,
We make funny faces all the time,
He is what I call  -a dime,
Not a dime's worth nor it's size,
It's quirkiness and shine,
And to end this poem is hard - just in a few lines,
His eyes and smile fill the room with light,
There is not one thing I regret from these,
*-These sleepless nights.
Hear ye, hear ye;
I uploaded a video touching on Guitar Technique and my personal philosophy regarding Art, Music, and, of course, Guitar.
If ye be so inclined as to peep it, then peep it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTw5Q8QxXqM

I am open to comments and questions, if a question merits it, I shall make a video specifically for that item.

G'day and cheers.
Cole Nubson Apr 2014
If every night with you feels so exhilarating
Then maybe this is all I need.
Sometimes I find solemness in the concentrating
Yet occasionally I stumble upon devilish greed.

There are moments that could repeat themselves infinitely
And there are wounds that never seem to clot.
As every dream is marked by winding intricacy
The red slips into the laces and patterns in blots.

Days get longer and shadows grow in length
The perfect melody to an everlasting hunger.
Mindless worries leave as misery turns to strength
We are just a compilation of all but less than blunder, at least I wonder.

When I turn around it seems like you forget
That elastic bounces back at the slightest relief
And the wound upon my back starts to admit
Every moment withers along with the movement too brief.
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I drank the alcohol, expecting something.
boy was I let down, when I got nothing.
No silly laughter, or grand horror story.
No youtube video, or easy talk for me.
Just a headache or two and a feeling of suffocation.
Just a scolding from people, and a dizzy sensation.
The bottle looked nice, and tv shows made it seem fun,
but after 3 gulps, I just felt like a street ***.
So I said goodbye to armpit beer,
and I assure no rose wine here.
*** is for pirates,
much too complicated for me.
I'm done with heartache alcohol,
as you can plainly see.
How do people even get addicted to that nasty stuff?

— The End —