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#packed
I'm sold on a once thoughtful deal I never even made! Only until I have my wallet in my very jeans back pocket am I willing to be sold towards selling myself clean!
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Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 3:48 AM UTC
Sold
I’ve kept myself in stasis by preserving with sodium if it works for meat it’s perfect for me 1 large jar of whole pickles gobble them all salt and pepper to taste drink brine ‘til full 2 bags of salt and vinegar chips per lb. consume in one sitting lick fingers greedily repeat weekly 3 bowls of green olives the salty ones eat ‘til you can sleep dry dreams in the wake
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Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
Packed with Salt
Sitting waiting in the packed room, trying not to adopt the mood, watching bubbles rise 'What's 'er name'? sensing movements, glancing eyes. A few know each other, smile hello, kids bellow. This is not the place for show. The bubbles silently burst. No effort worth the candle sadly burning, spluttering. Sighs sour invisible clouds, waiting for the 'Next , please' blow.
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Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Speech Bubbles
the body of water that lay still and silent . the atmosphere around so coherent to sound Like the flower of ideas Threatens to bloom then struck light so loud and bold they embrace and unfolds to incredible wondrous works Entrance life began living ....taking new breath then past ,present and future And infinity made . #standstill
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Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
the body of water
Bobbom bobbom. Bobbom bobbom. Blurred visions outside the window as the world rushes by. bobbom bobbom bobbom bobbom Close to other passengers avoiding eye contact but not knowing why. bobbom bobbom bobbom bobbom Time to plot my exit plan as the train slows to a stop. bobbom bobbom Schuuum...... Thdddd Another London rush hour Squeeze past giving apologetic looks to those I've trod on or knocked.
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Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
London rush hour
I still have the occasional dream, Of things I can no longer do, People I can no longer see. I've cut them off from my thoughts so they have no where else to go but my subconscious. Subdued, taped up and packed in boxes and old drawers, the pieces purposely misplaced and pictures burnt and/or torn, but they're still there. My little hell that still burns behind my eyes, that takes residence in my skull, that I try my best to forget about. I try to distract myself, avert attention, but honestly things still thrive in there. Alive and well, my hell has full attendance
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Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
Little Hell