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Own
This always happens.
Chew me up and spit me out, right?
I want to listen to “Smother” by Daughter and think about how much life *****,
and think about you, and think about what we could have—should have—been.
I want to show you how good of a person I am,
I want to make you see how well I would treat you,
were you mine to treat.
Over before it began.
Will we still go on that date as previously discussed?
It’s okay to say no, I’ve heard it all before
“You’re really nice, but…”
“I just don’t wanna ruin our friendship…”
“I’m not really looking for anything right now…”
And every time I nod and smile,
and lie through my teeth and say that everything is fine.

But it’s not fine, and I want you.
I want you to myself.
I want to walk into a room with you,
I want people to recognize you as mine, and me as yours.
I want to spend long Sunday afternoons with you, reading in bed.
I want to feel your skin against mine, feel your lips against mine.
I want to make love (even though I hate that phrase).
I want to share with you my wildest hopes and dreams,
and I want to know everything about you.

What makes you happiest.
When you’re the most content.
What scares you.
Your favorite ice cream flavor.
All of it, every detail.
I want to become privy to every part,
and when I see you walking towards me from a distance,
I can think to myself, “I really know him. I really love him.”

But this shall not be so.
I am not the right one for you,
just like I am not the right one for so many others.
You say it isn’t personal, but it obviously is.
It’s always personal.
So I will move on with my day,
and try not to think about you all throughout my ****** philosophy class.
And I will fail.
And you will be oblivious.
And we will go on as two parts of a puzzle that don’t go together.
And pretend that we’re friends but never speak.
And eventually lose contact all together.
And hopefully we’ll both find happiness somewhere else.
But even if we do, you will matter to me right now.
And I will shamefully lie awake in bed at night,
and dream of you being there next to me,
until I begin to drift off and realize
I’m warm enough on my own.
2.
you’re drinking yourself to death
every december you do this
i dream of your death in the obituary
discussed in medical detail

truth and dares upon the deathbed
derailed from your plan
denounced as a liar
you’re still delightful in my eyes

you riddle your wrists with dashes
do you desire life today?
daily I debate your decision
dark, dangerous, repressed, depressed

i can’t decide your destiny
you must distinguish
what is real and what is wrong

dearest, you’re dreaming
daring drugged and drunk
please never disappear
 Sep 2013 taylor stephenson
N T
With fingers holding the tail end of a cigarette (or the head end)
I wonder how my Daddy feels, when he imagines killing people who are different to him
cigarette companies make cigarettes
and he generates poison, and ejects it with his words.
His poison existed in my blood and in my soul for years
Mecca, Baghdad, colour, allah; the person, the religion.
I hated them all, with the power that Daddy hates cigarettes and of course the others
What gives him the right to hate all of those things, and tell me what I should and shouldn't hate.
I lift the cigarette up to my mouth and enjoy the thought of my bubble wrap lungs popping
I cough and it's rubbing it in my Daddy's face
While you're scheming dropping bombs, and becoming what you hate
I'm dying, slowly and laughing at the morbid thought
that while your hate won't **** anyone; your crippled manhood.
My hate for you is killing me
inhale, exhale.
Alone

Just one simple paycheck away,
never saved money for that rainy day.
Now I'm walking down the street,
begging you for food to eat.
Haven't shaved in a week,
looking like a bearded freak.
If you drive by, throw me a dime,
I ain't got nothing but time.
Built a fort in a tree,
wishing I had some lsd.
Clothes are torn, body covered in dirt,
I sure could use a brand new shirt.
I use leaves to wipe my ***,
stay away from that brown grass.
I take a shower when it rains,
with no soap, the dirt remains.
Looking for some needed assistance,
my life never had any kind of consistence.
I eat worms, I eat bugs,
I'd rather have some illegal drugs.
All I drink is animal blood,
my fort got washed away by a flood.
Now I walk the streets alone,
fighting dogs for their juicy bone.
I have no weapons to **** a mammal,
if you saw me on tv, you'd turn the channel.
Getting weaker by the day,
clouds over me are always grey.
Then one day I met you,
ripped her to pieces and made a stew.
Ate clam chowder for half a year,
she was fat and I showed no fear.
Me not knowing she had aids,
wishing now I had some razor blades.
Knowing soon, I'm about to die,
for my pathetic life, please don't cry.
Should have picked an animal with rabies,
cause I never was good with the ladies.
(...) It's in the insanity of darkness that I become sane.
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