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#clues
You thought I was falling apart before But at that point I still had my feet on the floor Now, I don't even see the ground anymore No clues on what I'm in store for For now or for forever more Did I drift or swim out far to far from the shore? I'm far further than a metaphor can illustrate, further than ever before Memories so distant they've been redesignated as basic lore What more can you do when you've lost your core And it was you who held open the door... ...once more ©2024
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Feb 8, 2024
Feb 8, 2024 at 5:00 PM UTC
~•§•~ Worse than Before or Just More of the Same? ~•§•~
Tell me something good something I'll believe make me choose to stay or make me want to leave our time is over now nothing up my sleeve you know all my tricks but grant me one reprieve I'll say very little about this and even when I dare know that I'm forever lost when you see that distant stare.
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Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 9:06 AM UTC
All the evidence you need
i tried to search you from the obviousness with the help of the memories I've gathered but all I am is helpless perhaps, my memory is all withered i tried to find you with the clues you have given all what you had left I tried using but now even the odds have turned even still, there is not much finding even if I won't find you remember that I tried though I'm not sure if what we had was true remember, I'll always be by your side
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Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 8:06 AM UTC
find you
Sedate me with your stare Bring me high above the clouds. Your touch is exhilarating; In the cover of darkness our hearts meet; Our fingers, our thighs; A secret is burgeoning. You keep on stealing from me. Your glances. Stop; don't stop. Take it all. My doors are unlocked. But what does it all mean? In my mind I rest my head, On your shoulders; My hands are reaching out to you Yet our hearts never felt so far away. Can I tell you my secret? Your hands are rough, But I want it around mine. Do our lips fit like puzzles do? Come on, lets fan the flames, Of this candlelit romance. Is it really you I'm meeting in the dark? My head keeps hitting the window; Potholes on the road. Another day. Another dream. The airwaves between us are silent. Am I a fool for honing in on your signals? It's so exciting, my one-sided romance.
0
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 9:30 AM UTC
now that you've moved on...
I search for happy people and when I recognise a joyful and happy person I take clues from how they are feeling, thinking and acting to discover how I can feel, think and act to be optimally joyful and happy.
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Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Learning from the Happy?
We're never truly lost and this won't last forever it just takes a little time to put things back together
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Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
Blue it
Beware For the monster is loose But don't you dare Go searching for clues Listen For the end is near And no one can escape as Fate is clear
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Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC
Fate is clear
Lovely name of mine      Hides a undefined mystery of sign      My mind was sprained and Tangled; bitten by the thousand reasons to struggle     Heart lies not in the soft and fluffy cotton —But in a millions of splintered button And was defined as an insect Easily smashed and crashed into pieces The fragments of my body was bisected Haunt by beliefs and nothing to know with other races Indeed, my blood flows along with my ideas Uncovering the mask to see what's underneath those lies Mesmerized you with those flowery words Not with a smooth stem like blossom But; A flower surrounded with sharp edges of thorns Lovely name of mine   Is a combined letters of a unsolvable crime                            — She
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Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
My Name Itself
How were they introduced to themselves within a flash of light? Enormous shots of humanness flying across the universe- only still inside the shapes of two blue eyes staring back at this vessel. Just molecules of flesh colliding into one another in a heap of colors and sounds we’d sometimes prefer to force ourselves not to hear. How do you keep yourself from exploding? Into a masterpiece of delightfulness pushed forward into the mouth, and sometimes only to be a breath, or a story dressed as a pink pillowcase on a childhood bedroom. Sometimes it’s just as if there was never ending cold and never ending warmth, and between each other there we were with our noses pressed up against the glass. People are only sometimes not shaped like beasts, are sometimes only chiseled into neatly marble statuesque ephemeral deities, and then into the tombs the book keepers go, into the ruins the shapes and sounds and colors disappear. Shattered into the vast expanse of vitrifying light, bouncing against your head my head, landing on the bedside table, the corner of your knee, into the knapsack with the broken zipper, far off into the jungle, or into the pantry next to the agave syrup, adjacent the espresso maker. There I am loving you more and more, quietly raking my hooves against the dirt, reigning midnight shining orders of dusty moonlight plashed on the time of winter lake, courtiers in your centrifuge of melancholy, balancing the toes just inches below the surface of the water, where the skin shuffled into the brief sentimentality of being thrusted into the infinite transdimensionality of the human escape- hands feet legs being ****** and pressed upon the glass. Infinite planes of man hurdling with fastidious dreamscape prejudice into the quakes and trembling, the indivisible and unquantifiable desires of yore crushed as the envelopes bars break against the seams, then come the staples and the body’s tries at reattaching itself to this the trying table of familiar names, this the tepid jocular playing field. While the undulates are thrown into the academies. While the infrastructures topple over, and the sunlight froths upon the celestial satellites nearing and nearing to us, folded over until we wake up from our necks and into our heads and inside of our brains, until we pull the thread from our gems and count back through the catalog pages trying to find letters of words in other languages piecing together the wanton madness of yearning for you and sharing the sounds of a voice that’s forgotten its own triumph of revealing or speaking its name. There is the room with the panels and the drawers. These are the wildernesses humming with the poison and quaffing the spit and drugs at the heady realm of human-like lightness, pals or even matter gives pause to answering you with what no understanding beeps or carries on forward, but rather bleeds, tormented, reaches forcefully, it has been nearly a quarter-millennia. Here is the start, the finish, here are the minutes, the hours, here are the streets, the beach, the bench, and all of life is ours, from the dawn to the crepuscular night. Here in a stone room where in black and white photographs spin their *** drives like mercurial thermoses bouncing of each other, dancing into the next world, or just fishing for alphabet soup with a wooden spoon. Here it is. The short-sheeted bedroom linen collection, folded comforter in the closet. The bath water is still and hot. The sky is clouding up soon, but not quite yet. In a ball of light rounding bloom, comes the silent fans that’ve carried you. While of a breath the trembles sway, and take us far away from here.
0
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
The Leftover Plain
How were they introduced to themselves within a flash of light? Enormous shots of humanness flying across the universe- only still inside the shapes of two blue eyes staring back at this vessel. Just molecules of flesh colliding into one another in a heap of colors and sounds we’d sometimes prefer to force ourselves not to hear. How do you keep yourself from exploding? Into a masterpiece of delightfulness pushed forward into the mouth, and sometimes only to be a breath, or a story dressed as a pink pillowcase on a childhood bedroom. Sometimes it’s just as if there was never ending cold and never ending warmth, and between each other there we were with our noses pressed up against the glass. People are only sometimes not shaped like beasts, are sometimes only chiseled into neatly marble statuesque ephemeral deities, and then into the tombs the book keepers go, into the ruins the shapes and sounds and colors disappear. Shattered into the vast expanse of vitrifying light, bouncing against your head my head, landing on the bedside table, the corner of your knee, into the knapsack with the broken zipper, far off into the jungle, or into the pantry next to the agave syrup, adjacent the espresso maker. There I am loving you more and more, quietly raking my hooves against the dirt, reigning midnight shining orders of dusty moonlight plashed on the time of winter lake, courtiers in your centrifuge of melancholy, balancing the toes just inches below the surface of the water, where the skin shuffled into the brief sentimentality of being thrusted into the infinite transdimensionality of the human escape- hands feet legs being ****** and pressed upon the glass. Infinite planes of man hurdling with fastidious dreamscape prejudice into the quakes and trembling, the indivisible and unquantifiable desires of yore crushed as the envelopes bars break against the seams, then come the staples and the body’s tries at reattaching itself to this the trying table of familiar names, this the tepid jocular playing field. While the undulates are thrown into the academies. While the infrastructures topple over, and the sunlight froths upon the celestial satellites nearing and nearing to us, folded over until we wake up from our necks and into our heads and inside of our brains, until we pull the thread from our gems and count back through the catalog pages trying to find letters of words in other languages piecing together the wanton madness of yearning for you and sharing the sounds of a voice that’s forgotten its own triumph of revealing or speaking its name. There is the room with the panels and the drawers. These are the wildernesses humming with the poison and quaffing the spit and drugs at the heady realm of human-like lightness, pals or even matter gives pause to answering you with what no understanding beeps or carries on forward, but rather bleeds, tormented, reaches forcefully, it has been nearly a quarter-millennia. Here is the start, the finish, here are the minutes, the hours, here are the streets, the beach, the bench, and all of life is ours, from the dawn to the crepuscular night. Here in a stone room where in black and white photographs spin their *** drives like mercurial thermoses bouncing of each other, dancing into the next world, or just fishing for alphabet soup with a wooden spoon. Here it is. The short-sheeted bedroom linen collection, folded comforter in the closet. The bath water is still and hot. The sky is clouding up soon, but not quite yet. In a ball of light rounding bloom, comes the silent fans that’ve carried you. While of a breath the trembles sway, and take us far away from here.
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7
You were given all the wisdom You were given all the clues It was written in a long love letter You just didn't get the news Every detail was written out All the poems and prose and law All the wisdom of the prophets Written down up in there on the county jailhouse walls. All the details you would ever need You just didn't heed the calls Scratched out for you to read there On the county jailhouse walls The lunatics know everything While the insane take the fall Yes you'll be able to walk again But first you'll have to crawl Sure, I know you didn't see it yet you were told each one and all The wisdom of America is written down up in there on the county jailhouse walls. -R 06 -TX
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Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
-The Wisdom of America
Refusal to meet my eyes "He's shy" they say, but They don' t even know him Am I wasting my time Chasing and hoping for affection? Or will quitting ruin everything? Maybe he needs a push Could I be more straightforward
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Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Next move