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Where Shelter Jan 2015
bed unmade days,
kitchen ****-all-around-roaches
email me thank you notes,
cockaround gratingly grate full

the dry cleaning unwrapped,
the plastic sheets dust covered,
can't recall why it matters at all
any of it

but she,
no
but she,
now-gone

pass by
the bed,
see the sign,
"to let"
on the toilet seat
upright

lie ever inwards onwards
idiots who let little things come
between,
wishing there were
ever still,
noisy
and so very
between
K G Jul 2016
The stairs to my quest
They are gratingly lined
With tall black cypress trees
With wings of seaweed
Which throw their shadows across
Thats all left for
The slippery eminent steps
Jago Lantz Sep 2013
I'll finally admit that I've lost my mind
For all around me I hear them say
That my sense of reason is much too kind
And that I need to keep it well at bay

I'm not good and I'm not bad
And I'm telling you that it's rather sad
To be this alone with a single voice
Reminding me that I've only got one choice

Paint the world with your darkened dreams
And show them what you intend to do
Prove that your world is tearing at the seams
And that all you need is a little happy glue

The voice, it tells me I'm not good
It rasps out gratingly that I should
Fall into its welcoming arms
And surrender to its familiar charms

But I know deep down who I really am
I'm a child still learning to take control
Of a life that feels like a strenuous exam
Still unwilling to commit my soul

So that voice, it tells me that I'm really bad
That I've seriously gone completely mad
But that's alright, because I am who I want to be
Everything that makes this person that is me

Paranoia within the world
Can only go as far as we allow
And our thoughts that have become so whorled
Are a raging phobia that will merely show us how
Caitlin Cromley Oct 2014
The morning slowly cuts my ties to dreamland,
visions dissipating as my sleep-laden eyes
open to daylight. It is a ******, our greatest
enemy, gratingly kind as it greets
us and peers in on me stirring in the folds of your

arms. Once again, the hours have eluded my control
and soon I must become a slave to the
the menial and routine. Dread creeps
in my stomach, contaminating my calm. Stubborn,
I linger, my fingers pressing into your cotton-soft

skin, always comforting to the touch. I am swathed
in repose and security, as my body contours
into yours. Longing to linger battles my commitments;
evidence of your hold on me. Reluctant, I press my lips
to your cheek, softly groaning as I wrench myself from

your strong frame. Goodbyes with us never seem
to get easier, and the days always lag. I constantly
dream of coming home to crawl atop your body
as you pull me into you, the keeper of my dreams and qualms,
unabashed witness to my tears, my immovable, ever-faithful

bed.
brooke Sep 2017
over the last few months
you couldn't put a number
to how many times i've thought
about you Matt,

how many angry drives I've sped
through the twisted wind channels
of brush hollow and stood at the
outcrop looking towards the dam--

the ungodly mornings spent staring
at my right arm stretched across the pillow
not even thinking about you but also him

this translucent idea of a man that
might exist, thin as a wafer and
constantly fading

how often i pulled up your name
and stared at the trees in my yard
or the sunsets or the moon that
was gratingly beautiful and was
just ******

but the amount of time it
takes my soul to ease into it is
shortening now, and all the
things I missed back then
the traits and bits that
flew silently beneath
the radar are all coming to
light

and I am realizing how blind
it all was, how constructed
the lies were, how I was
never the perfect girl for you
i just tried so desperately to be--

and the strangest people are
speaking into my life at
the most unexpected moments
I don't think i've got you  nailed down--
could it be that it's because you don't
quite know yourself either?


How funny,
how true
maybe all that this was
and all that you were--
a catalyst on the way
to figuring it out
but I shouldn't give too
much thought to the potter
or the ***

you were a blessing either way.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017


nothing special, just something i've been thinking about.
Sold goy lodgers must teach to the sameness of courted suchness as
old Roy Rogers must preach to the tameness of rewarded muchness
that I salvage gratingly to folks for not ******* on my dreams while
the *** peed on Pittsburgh's Pirates ****** off few sike-a-**** teams
He toked ****, snorted coke & loved Satan as David Bowie with a
sick plan to wed kaffir Iman in his descent to hell to wave it snowy
He smoked Jane, huffed coke & craved Satan as David Bowie with
a slick plan to wed kaffir Iman with a drop to hell to crave it showy
Lily Tomlin is a bi-hormone ****** with her "wife" of several years
who drives to the tropical south before Lily can grab her by the ears

— The End —