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I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
Cuts on my wrists
hands curled into fists
will i even be missed

Writing a note
i wrote
i love you and it wasn't your fault

That's a lie
i want to die and
its partly your fault

I can't tell you that so i
Sit and i cry

Why do i
Live like this

Will i even be missed
I am not in a good place anymore
I don't want to be here!
 Jan 2018 Eric Angels
Beda Flores
" Do you ever wonder
what would've happen
if you made the
right choice instead
of the wrong choice
i know i do
as i sit here writing this
it just came to my mind
what if i chose the other option
what would've happen
i always wonder and
ask my self
did i make the
the right choice
by following my mind
or did i make the wrong choice by
following my heart"
 Jan 2018 Eric Angels
do you remember

how it feels

to lie with a woman 

and hold her

as close in your heart

as she is in your arms

whose arms were those

whose heart was that

what woman

the things you unraveled from yourself 

without a thought

in club bathrooms and

green fields and

***** carpet floors

you cannot put those back

the way they were

you cannot 

turn the lights back out

no one ever tells you that

no one ever tells you child

be careful
what you pull on 

be careful

where you look
 Oct 2017 Eric Angels
John Clare
He could not die when trees were green,
      For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
      Were held for the bluebell,
      As he was carried o’er the green.

His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
      He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
      He held one in his hands to sing,
      Which filled his heart with glee.

Infants, the children of the spring!
      How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
      Green grass, and such a sky?
      How can they die at spring?

He held his hands for daisies white,
      And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
      That in the green fields grew,
      As childhood’s sweet delight.

And then he shut his little eyes,
      And flowers would notice not;
Birds’ nests and eggs caused no surprise,
      He now no blossoms got;
      They met with plaintive sighs.

When winter came and blasts did sigh,
      And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
      His soul seemed with the free,
      He died so quietly.
 Oct 2017 Eric Angels
John Clare
Love lives beyond the tomb,
And earth, which fades like dew!
I love the fond,
The faithful, and the true.

Love lives in sleep:
’Tis happiness of healthy dreams:
Eve’s dews may weep,
But love delightful seems.

’Tis seen in flowers,
And in the morning’s pearly dew;
In earth’s green hours,
And in the heaven’s eternal blue.

’Tis heard in Spring
When light and sunbeams, warm and kind,
On angel’s wing
Bring love and music to the mind.

And where’s the voice,
So young, so beautiful, and sweet
As Nature’s choice,
Where Spring and lovers meet?

Love lives beyond the tomb,
And earth, which fades like dew!
I love the fond,
The faithful, and the true.

I asked her to stay calm
She told me her heart was too wild
It could not be tamed
A fire burned in her soul
I gave her a love she could only buy from me
I was her dealer, and blind lover
For I saw love through her
et id me borfday toodai
we ar so happi dso bee 16 yodqay
we wouldn lik to t6hank qaqdam rylander
he had ben  a grayt heelp

i wood lek jew also fank solari
he liked mee pomes and amde me go trending
if yoo cood chair dis wev ur frends and mak me famoos
i wood be appy
thankyou @solari and @lostboy

It isn't always a thorn in your feet,
Or the throbbing ache from an overused mind,
Nursing a starved heart.


It isn't the Boogeyman in your closet,
Or the silence left behind by a slam of the door,
With his parting words.


It isn't crying into your pillow at night,
Or the broken pieces of a family photo,
Shattered on the floor.

Pain is invisible.
Fear is amiable,
Sadness is insatiable.

— The End —