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 Jan 2015 Rachel Lyle
Creep
You were too good to be true.
I realize that now,
and I wish that I never met you
'cause then baby,
I wouldn't be so use to kindred words,
beautiful eyes,
somber smiles,
and tearful goodbyes.

I wouldn't miss your smile,
that silly smirk you used to tease me with,
the tickles,
the gasps,
the sloppy, desperate kisses.

But,
I put my heart out on its own palisade,
paraded it down empty halls,
and left it alone to fight a war it would surely lose,
with yours.
Not for anyone really.

run away from me
by various artists, DotEXE
blowing bubbles on a summer day
laying on the blanket, as scratchy as a lamb
wishing for a lover, a hoper, a dreamer to stay
instead of these sorry *** losers who dont give a ****
Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.
Now Mammy dead
All these years,
The salt that mixes
With the tears
Drips on tender wounds.
This son, I'm not
The only one,
Deprived of so much more.
Time implored
By the adored,
Lead you to that room,
Left you
In that room.
Happy Birthday Mammy. Jan. 20, 1920 - Oct. 27, 1989.
This flower
In the dark
Of night,
With petals
Of carnal delight,
Like Venus, snaps
To hold one tight;
Repeats
The feast
In morning light.
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