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#dragging
Dragging bodies Against the concrete ground Is not nearly as much fun Without you To lick the blood From your fingers And smile Your crooked grin
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Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 11:04 AM UTC
Dragging Bodies
Dragging a bad situation is like being stabbed in the middle of your collar bones and slowly sliding it down your chest...
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Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
Dragging It
You’re not the only one, A broken record playing those few words, My thoughts dragging in circles, overrun. All the late nights, Watching all the flashing lights, Nights filled with lust turned to rage. Thinking of you, Back when we felt the same, Before you started disappearing. Guess what, she rang today, Boasting about your new family, You don’t even know about the one you left behind. A brand new life, Torn to pieces by your inability to sit still, You cut yourself out like a serrated knife. My little sunflower, With all the faith of Peter Pan, Your absence won’t ever drown her.
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Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
Only one
Memory is an anchor Dragging down my heart This weight is slowly sinking me I'm just not ready to part
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Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 5:31 AM UTC
Anchor
Therapist: How are you feeling? My answer: Currently experiencing hell on earth.                       But nothing major, just a slight reaction                       to the misery my thoughts                       are dragging me though. Therapist: That must be hard
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Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
Hell'o Thoughts
you see it crawling to you reaching out and dragging you down you let it and you love it till the claws dig in and the sun disappears and you know what happens next
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Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
self indulgence
People forget that love rhymes only carry you so long, along a reparative flow.. But I venture on the waves of varied flow.. Do I care if you get ****** below my riptide.. never connecting upon my differential flow of wording. Drowning within my varied view of a world that isn't flowers they fell into my ocean and got dragged into oblivion long before you learnt to swim. The moods of others are fickle, but I'm not a trend, I'm a tsunami of reality... That's not constricted to the lullabies of others as they drown within my words.... others fade but I'm still here dragging you out...
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Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC
Dragging You Out To Reality
Feeling something that was once happiness is now nothing but a memory. Wretched with grief and anxiety, Pain in my chest swallows me whole. Caverns of black and purple, my heart lies deep within expelling inks in tones of red, yet my body feels no lighter still. I close my eyes, there's darkness there. But there's darkness everywhere. Water pours over head, steam fills up the room. Crossed legs upon the floor, tears fall down my face. difference to water is between my sobs, the salt lays thick on my tongue. Fatigued in life, not just my breath each day begins to drag. Challenge myself to leave it still, because harming helps no one.
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Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC
Pain.
I exist far beneath the floor boards I'm an apparition Dragging my way through halls Carrying the weight of the world And the weight of nothing I feel nothing I recollect nothing I'm not sure I even am
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Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Sunken
I reached across the table in hopes her hand would too. But the blank stare on her face and my depression both grew. The thunder roared at itself as the lights flickered. The smell of coffee filled the little coffee shop. Her, a coat and 5 days of unspoken words crushed my mind. I glanced at the floor in hopes she would speak but she didn't. She couldn't, and for that I lay my head on the table top, whispering love songs in my head. I could feel the sway of unkindness taunt me. Her eyes spoke of emptiness and questions even I couldn't answer. She laughed, holding a long sigh at the end. I brushed my hair out of my face, glancing at the perfection in her smirk. I had done nothing, therefore my head pounded with nonsense assumptions as to why she laughed. Her laugh was like a symphony that only gets better on repeat. Her hand dragged across the table, clinging to mine, our fingers intertwined and in that moment i felt what it was like to love. In that moment, we were infinite.
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
We Were Infinite
I trace my finger around. With red lipstick on I wear the skin of the pets I had, looking like a marigold shot through the head, my bare skin is barbed in the back. Such trouble and quiet with the wrap-around, the cross-walk, and floral shop as I browse. The white elephant in the upstairs bedroom, is making it hard for every one of us to sleep. With this Africa becomes a disease, that I unwrap from a cotton white sheet. When I breathe life is going good, under the spells of wicked and word. I like to call out in the night, so with no response I can plead for the courage to think; all the suburban philistines try to help me, but I can't tell a joke because I cannot read. Every thing amounts to being fat. Or liquidated in the most pathetic singles party for Karl Lagerfeld. Numb fingers slur the words as I type telephone numbers that end in threes. I see a notice to be called upon, but it's hard to remember what day it is when your job only pays you in financial advice, "Don't do as I do, but please just do what I say." And I can smell that. The approach that a hunter brews in his midnight solemn cup of tea. Where a voice chimes in while a mouse runs out, dragging the corners of my eyes in a lagging meme, it doesn't do well to even be yourself sometimes, once while traveling I couldn't see. Come that morning I had left my hotel pass inside my favorite pants, black denim toting paint from a ******** shot, a picture that explains my disease. The fifty inch fan hums an anonymous tune that when I turn quickly towards it becomes this feral baboon. And is it hardly based on fact or is it the illusions and the myths that Christopher Robins struck inside of me. With his griseous hands made of soot and of gouache, that worshipped animals that wear clothes outside. And even sometimes there are z's that transform into other creatures that hum real fast and talk out loud in nursery rhymes, a Whatsit and a Woozel are totally, too much for me. I turn the fan off and lay back down, and fight the world off with hands from another guy, much braver than I who doesn't even have tattoos but he's the top wordsmith from Buckingham. What a beautiful treat and such a magnificent surprise that the elephant lays down to die. Of course that's when my mouth dries up with smoke and my voice turns into the vanilla flavoring that everyone hates, and then too I felt like laying down to die. But I'm not 97 like I had thought I'm quite sure that I'm still alive. The white moon shines into my bedroom window at night and I pretend that I direct for the sky.
0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Not 97 I Surmise
I trace my finger around. With red lipstick on I wear the skin of the pets I had, looking like a marigold shot through the head, my bare skin is barbed in the back. Such trouble and quiet with the wrap-around, the cross-walk, and floral shop as I browse. The white elephant in the upstairs bedroom, is making it hard for every one of us to sleep. With this Africa becomes a disease, that I unwrap from a cotton white sheet. When I breathe life is going good, under the spells of wicked and word. I like to call out in the night, so with no response I can plead for the courage to think; all the suburban philistines try to help me, but I can't tell a joke because I cannot read. Every thing amounts to being fat. Or liquidated in the most pathetic singles party for Karl Lagerfeld. Numb fingers slur the words as I type telephone numbers that end in threes. I see a notice to be called upon, but it's hard to remember what day it is when your job only pays you in financial advice, "Don't do as I do, but please just do what I say." And I can smell that. The approach that a hunter brews in his midnight solemn cup of tea. Where a voice chimes in while a mouse runs out, dragging the corners of my eyes in a lagging meme, it doesn't do well to even be yourself sometimes, once while traveling I couldn't see. Come that morning I had left my hotel pass inside my favorite pants, black denim toting paint from a ******** shot, a picture that explains my disease. The fifty inch fan hums an anonymous tune that when I turn quickly towards it becomes this feral baboon. And is it hardly based on fact or is it the illusions and the myths that Christopher Robins struck inside of me. With his griseous hands made of soot and of gouache, that worshipped animals that wear clothes outside. And even sometimes there are z's that transform into other creatures that hum real fast and talk out loud in nursery rhymes, a Whatsit and a Woozel are totally, too much for me. I turn the fan off and lay back down, and fight the world off with hands from another guy, much braver than I who doesn't even have tattoos but he's the top wordsmith from Buckingham. What a beautiful treat and such a magnificent surprise that the elephant lays down to die. Of course that's when my mouth dries up with smoke and my voice turns into the vanilla flavoring that everyone hates, and then too I felt like laying down to die. But I'm not 97 like I had thought I'm quite sure that I'm still alive. The white moon shines into my bedroom window at night and I pretend that I direct for the sky.
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3
Zuru-zuru, zuru-zuru We wander aimlessly from place to place Zuru-zuru, zuru-zuru We're in no rush, quite slow is our pace Zuru-zuru, zuru-zuru Making excuses all the time Zuru-zuru, zuru-zuru We allow ourselves to be covered in grime Zuru-zuru, zuru-zuru We carelessly sin as if it's fine When will we heed the truth? When will we heed the warnings? When it comes to our deaths, there will be only mourning. Zuru-zuru, zuru-zuru
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Zuru-zuru