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Church Rowe May 2014
Run, rat, run.
Though you don’t know where to
or what from.

Live, love,
fly, die.
A cyclical life we all live by.

Disorientedly
caught in the streams
of others’ hopes and dreams.
Elizabeth Sep 2015
I am a song.
I sing identity,
shape,
sorrow,
color,
doubt,
ache,
smell,
story.
I play my rhythms carefully - cohesively - carelessly - disorientedly.
I am a note on a page
in a piece
of a collection
of an anthology.
I am small,
I am weak,
and no one remembers me.
I stand on one leg,
a bleed from one strike
of a pen.
By myself
I am nothing,
but I still exist
to create something
with every other bleed.
And we will make music
because we are not mistakes.
Title subject to change
Christian C Apr 2020
Sunlight streaks in, gold and sharp,
One blanket is tossed to the floor,
The other is wrapped around you, tangled in your legs.

You stretch beyond the scope of the bed,
Disorientedly breathe the early morning in,
And cover me with blanket seized in your sleep.

I am draped, like royalty, only in the finest,
Your arm adorns and grounds me.
I understand your appreciation for weighted blankets.

My mind cannot wander or worry or plot my demise in your arms.

— The End —