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"bypasser" poems
you are my dreams’ reel frequent inhabiter rarely a bypasser feelings lost sight, almost
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Jun 8, 2022
Jun 8, 2022 at 10:19 PM UTC
you are
the phone rings, **** its already late I dress up past, I grab my things rushing out through the gate it was a grey rainy day, the shoe lace was untied. stepping on the puddles through the alleyway I smelt the leftovers cornered to be putrefied in the distance i heard the foghorn bray and then suddenly the ipod died, it wasn't the slightest idea of my heyday and so it made me stupefied. the alley never seem to end. for once I was hoping for a commotion. and then it made a slight bend and a shadow appeared at the cross section. everything got a trascend blend looked like life moved ahead in a slow motion. the figure was human like and with each tick it moved slowly-closer. my body was abruptly covered with spike, as the motion became tenser. the cold hit me like a pike, yet my mind said he was just a bypasser. I knew I shouldn't have been there. I stared the figure drenched in the rain. all I wanted to do now was run anywhere before it blew away my brain. before I could make my escape he cought me by my arm. his eyes were cold and senseless but his hands felt delicate. for a seond life became aimless as I became his captivate. his charm was flawless his beauty was the least I could appreciate. he suddenly let go of me I stared into his eyes and realized I must leave I turned around and made my move away...... TO BE CONTINUED...
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May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
The Agapo, Part 1
encapsulating my face as i walk down main street a web that catches butterflies for me to devour tonight while everyone is dreaming the sun exists there all around me illuminating every separate piece the grass-blade the bypasser the pavement crack a perfectly pieced puzzle -i must be the shadow here- an outlier an oddity the light spares me today it will come again when there is less to wonder about more to know suppose you find me here shadow and all i would say here is not what you are looking for you cannot scare this away and certainly it is not able to be subsumed resigned toleration is all but even that is unwanted pay no mind to the dismality of my sanity be on your way stop and smell the pungent odors of the pyrus calleryana the sky is not flat today the air, not stifling make it merry (if you'd like) there is nothing tragic about synergy
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
i, the accessory, and you, the accessorizer,
Empty bottles, empty lives. Star crossed lovers, looking to survive. Tasting the fire, at happy hour. Should we take a shower? A taste of the edge. Plot twisted, crimes listed. Half hearted feelings with soles revealing, empty skulls filled with power. Can you bring me a flower? Implanted noise, keeping me from beyond the void. Space shuttles and stars. A bypasser, I wonder who you really are. Come here my master, do I want to taste your disaster?
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Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
Obscene
My mother always seems to see things that I don't. For instance, I would spend half an hour searching for something she could find in less than a minute. Peculiar for some, my mother for just most. I know those living in asian households could never disagree. She would spend her afternoons outside in complete contentment with her tiny, wooden chair surrounded by house plants she cultivated during her cancer intervals. She did this everyday. And not one of those days, I would join her. Until today. "Do you see it?" she grinned. Her eyes fixed at the road. Fascinated, still. Despite the pattern it gives off for recurring naturally. I nod. Although, I couldn't see it. Suddenly, a man passed by. From the looks of it, he seems disheartened. Neighbor, I assumed. "Everyday" my mother started, "this man would walk alone circling the neighborhood before he would go to his house and sleep." she looked pleased and went back inside. A year later, a family of three passed by. The man looked bright as ever. Neighbors, I know. My eyes crinkled at the corners making me tear up a little as I recall what my mother had told me that day. "There's still magic in being just a mere bypasser, you know? You get to see how the story ends."
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Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 10:52 AM UTC
Mere Bypasser