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 Dec 2018 Austin Ryskamp
abbey
last time i was in your room,
your walls were painted blue.
but this time,
they’re yellow.
As you turn each page
Each one yellowed with age
They tell a story of a life
That ended with a knife
Not a happy story
Maybe slightly gory
Maybe a little sad
Maybe happy, just a tad
You turn each page
Each more yellowed with age
Your eyes full of wonder
As the story puts you under
Some sort of mystical dream
Where nothing is what it should seem
But all turns to bad
All happy turns to sad
As you turn to the last page
Yellowed with age
You see a life full of struggle and strife
Ending with a knife
 Dec 2018 Austin Ryskamp
Jenny
Noir
 Dec 2018 Austin Ryskamp
Jenny
the electricity runs through our veins
and past the street signs we rumble by
in the car you stole, we go fifty above the speed limit,
the roof of the car is the noir sky above
and the midnight rain pelts our upturned faces
the dancing drops of water drip onto our smiling lips
the sound of the sky collapsing
echoes the flashes that streak the sky,
the flickering light casts paved roads with a brief brightness
(as if god were wearing light up sketchers)
the lacy brallette that wears me
gives me the bravery to stand up in the speeding car
the velvet pants that ripple with the wind
drink up the nighttime rain
and the rare headlights race past us,
heading into homes and hearts
the mellow playlist that connects the aux cord to our ears blasts
so loud, we can no longer hear our insecurity
the mascara that once clung to my eyelashes
now streams down my face.
on a two way street,
we drive down the middle
unafraid in the face of direct dangers
so unaware of the towering empty skyscrapers
and instead highly exhilarated
from the street signs we drive by
too fast to read the blocky lettering
the road signs glint, smiling as we wave and reach towards them
the cigarettes you smoked are thrown through the open window,
still smothering slightly.
i can still taste the smoke on your lips
and your hand tucks my hair behind my ear
and as the wind objects and inhales
unreal in the hazy a.m. car trip
the tunnel rushes towards us,
and we both hold our breaths,
as if breathing would contaminate us.
the lights that glint, cast a yellow-white glow
and for once, i see you for who you are
a boy too buzzed to feel
a kid who only felt "sort of"
a person who couldn't heal
and a lover who could never give love
about a boy who was my living teenage dream // nothing scarier than finding a broken loveless boy who makes you the same
 Dec 2018 Austin Ryskamp
Day
Do you ever feel TOO alive?
Droop, droop no more, or hang the head,
Ye roses almost withered;
Now strength and newer purple get,
Each here declining violet.
O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;
And to all flowers ally’d in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood:
For health on Julia’s cheek hath shed
Claret and cream commingled;
And those her lips do now appear
As beams of coral, but more clear.
 Dec 2018 Austin Ryskamp
jean
I tend to love
broken things.
And sometimes, I get broken
by the things I love.
Yassou, I say to you in poetry,
To the 'Alive Poets' Society',
Here is one for your fantasies,
Make love with one feather-erotically,
But with a whole chicken, well, like, *****!
Run that past your thoughts, imaginarily,
Making love like that, immaculately,
Definitely one for your fantasies,
Using a whole chicken, well, like, *****!
Yassou, one of the 'Alive Poets' Society'!
A bit of nonsense.
 Dec 2018 Austin Ryskamp
Becca
there’s a fragment of my mind which says
‘the darkness is your home.’
sad, depressed, depression, sadness, dark, darkness, mind, aesthetic, broken, fragile
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