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"prognoses" poems
Knees weak and trembling Lost to rhythm, lost to times To the flashing lights and ancient lies Of your laugh and ****** humor, To your eyes and wrinkled warped wisdom With how you always held your hands, With the million ways you used them And the games we would play All the days spent on repeat Poison broken hope hid in hell and Torment disguising the life and decay In the bottom of your soul gone. Your immense presence dwindling Into nothing as you cave in. Defined by your addiction, Owned and liberated to be Defined by your prognoses Still hosting those same feelings Of self hate, depreciation Creating your own hell For temporary damnation I pray you save yourself, There’s no one here to help you. I’m sorry I couldn't stop you, I’m sorry your life haunts you Weighs on you taunts you like the guilt Causing pressure on your chest, Lung cancer it spreads, I hate to whisper to myself Because all that’s left to be said Is you shouldn't hold your breath.
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Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Don't hold your breath
There once was a crazy nurse, She drove around driving a hearse, Whenever she hit a victim, She would cry out "Admit 'em!" The prognoses couldn't have been worse.
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Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 4:13 AM UTC
Diagnoses: Nurse over the Edge
you stand on the corner of your just-gone home, dirt from below the torn-up asphalt making its way beneath your sunglasses, the distance between now and then something you can no longer stretch your knees and step over. your first love is boarded up across the street, succumbed finally to the burn of nineteen’s shallow pockets and standing in the way of a new apartment complex. you walk on, humming so you can’t hear the heavy step of all that’s taking your place. it’s a strain on your ventricles, loving and losing and owning and letting go, when you’re here again. knowing the porch’s soft wood at number 18 while the door is bolted and a stranger’s boots line your closet floor. it’s not all lockouts and dire prognoses. your tomorrow professes to accommodate a higher wattage than the sconces in your old room, and your visits taste like love and memory and breakfast, and his bed is warmer than your own because he’s in it, and he welcomes you home like that’s what it still is. it feels like he’s not wrong to say so—sometimes, you still belong there. cold coffee in hand from the farthest corner where they know your order still. an opinion on which pizza joint has better marinara. a favorite bathroom. an indelible mark on your old library desk. some of it is yours. but some of it isn’t. some never was, and some has slipped through your fingers. you hum a little louder as the months go by and the boarded windows give way to a brand-new storefront—one that never knew you at nineteen—so you can’t hear the heavy step of all that’s taking your place. but you keep coming back.
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Juniper
you stand on the corner of your just-gone home, dirt from below the torn-up asphalt making its way beneath your sunglasses, the distance between now and then something you can no longer stretch your knees and step over. your first love is boarded up across the street, succumbed finally to the burn of nineteen’s shallow pockets and standing in the way of a new apartment complex. you walk on, humming so you can’t hear the heavy step of all that’s taking your place. it’s a strain on your ventricles, loving and losing and owning and letting go, when you’re here again. knowing the porch’s soft wood at number 18 while the door is bolted and a stranger’s boots line your closet floor. it’s not all lockouts and dire prognoses. your tomorrow professes to accommodate a higher wattage than the sconces in your old room, and your visits taste like love and memory and breakfast, and his bed is warmer than your own because he’s in it, and he welcomes you home like that’s what it still is. it feels like he’s not wrong to say so—sometimes, you still belong there. cold coffee in hand from the farthest corner where they know your order still. an opinion on which pizza joint has better marinara. a favorite bathroom. an indelible mark on your old library desk. some of it is yours. but some of it isn’t. some never was, and some has slipped through your fingers. you hum a little louder as the months go by and the boarded windows give way to a brand-new storefront—one that never knew you at nineteen—so you can’t hear the heavy step of all that’s taking your place. but you keep coming back.
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*confines of mindscape confides shadowed landscape coffin lids fastened tight custodial strife bite where finer emotions reside convivial memories collide custom denial define comport in social decline coffers fill with loose change combined prognoses engage* _ __ ___ ✒ ●○ °
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Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
contriving complexities
Occasionally notably one may travel and find, Gawking carelessly on a barn in their midst, With fruits and grain scattered throughout, Suffused with the sweet scent of the wheat, With caulked vapors floret above at days end, The sundown spreads its beauty upon the lands, And the obstinate blackbirds singing above Among the glistening river the burbots jump, One could never forget the daffodils cordage, The scent of tilled lands afore one in ones travels, And consistence a rancher with furlongs of cattle, Or that old apple cider press in the old southern towns, But where is the canticle of spring to come around, Hours pass into days and the days into months, Where are they when will this wonderful season come, As the sun percolates warmth upon the flowers to grow, Carved work by hand of famed craftsman farm gates, The gates cast round fettered before my eyes, A prognoses is all too clear of what lays afore me, Winter will follow the fall as it always will do, Spring summer and fall will again be part of the past, As morning comes from eve amass the rooster’s crow, I guess one can be compared to seasons born and bloom, It is then we have experienced the seasons at their optimum, As the canticle of seasons have been attained” By A. Guzaldo 07/06/2018 ©
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Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
“CANTICLE of the SEASONS”
Certainly it has become a ubiquitous VIRAL DOPE Here we are so TERRIFIED and trapped in a unique FEAR’S COPE The search for prognoses remains a huge ***** It looks scary but we ought to hold on tenaciously to any available surviving ROPE Our vim should skyrocket and never SLOPE And may we be exposed to the true LIGHT OF HOPE Will COVID19 prevail eternally? NOPE...! Martin Addison
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Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
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