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 Aug 2015 tranquil
RW Dennen
Wood
 Aug 2015 tranquil
RW Dennen
There was once a carpenter's son;
he died by his stepfather's profession
about an item made of wood

He died by his stepfather's profession
carrying wood upon his back

He died by his stepfather's profession
with wood touching him
He died by his stepfather's profession
by wood with nails in skin...
Ironically this man of love and peace
who preached peace and
love knew about wood
by his earthly father;
died on wood...
 Aug 2015 tranquil
Chaos
Stars
 Aug 2015 tranquil
Chaos
Someone once told me
Whenever I was lost
I should look to the stars
They would guide me home
But where are they tonight?
The sky is cloudy and grey
And no stars are in sight
Why aren't they here?
When I need them the most
I'm so, so lost and I need them
*I need them to guide me home
 Aug 2015 tranquil
oni
closet space
 Aug 2015 tranquil
oni
every person
has baggage,
and it is your decision
whether or not
to help them
unpack.
I became a poet
In the hopes of becoming someone's poem
Break me open
Untie my scars
Pull out every secret
Every burn

Kiss me undone
Take this mess
And discover every hidden piece
Hiding in the sheets

Unravel my soul
Touch me so gently
Like you might break me
Pull me close and dive into my mind

Undo me
Every piece
Bare upon the sheets
Break me open
 Aug 2015 tranquil
Chris
~

You are the sum of my heart,
*I need add nothing more
 Aug 2015 tranquil
Mitch Nihilist
he goes searching for love in the wrong ways
guided in directions by bedsheets and lost
by indulgence in the temporary
decadence and narcissism
-
a mapless journey lead in the retrospected
direction of peer fulfilled gratification,
met already past the point of no return
by a social gathering of perceptions
and conceptions towards a tangible
reason
-
the smell of sweat,
consecutive exhales and inhales
pinpoint reminders after the fact,
held tight by only bedsheets,
watching her get dressed
pulling what she wore out
that night over a coiffure
of tangled penitence
as it rises above the
neck of her shirt
-
sitting admit the marrow
of vision lies an exiting
woman, usually
brown hair, sometimes blonde,
behind the marrow lies thoughts
of penance that digs and widens
the crevice of perception
deeper and deeper
-
at times of stagnant intimacy,
intimacy that redefines ephemeral,
retrospected notions replay
and stain the mind of
women,
usually brown hair,
sometimes blonde
-
by this time
he rode the the wrinkles
on the bedsheets too far
destined to temporarily
subside the loneliness,
only to find out in the present
that the destination reached
has a population so nullified
that where he came from
was far better off.
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