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Andre Leng-Ay Nov 2014
you know you can, but courage is denied
"probably" knowing that he'll never reply
trying, but failing to capture his attention
looks like again, i've been denied admission.
em Jan 2016
I wish I could say I was sand that slipped through your fingertips, but baby that's a truth for someone else.

You let me go.
You would rather be loved on hazy nights than for all the forever's I could promise you. You wanted love, you just didn't want me.

This is our truth.
Please help me improve this.
syncopation Oct 7
As the days roll into nights
And the nights back into days
It’s just too easy to have time slip away.

But just as the rivers into the seas flow
For this we have but little control

And as we get older for some reason
Time seems to move faster

But that is a misperception you see
For it is when we have little left it becomes as clear as can be

Just as an hourglass drains
At first imperceptibly slow
Until the final sands of time begin to show
By then like a whirlpool
It seems to succumb to gravity’s pull

Where did the time go
Will we ever know.
Onoma Aug 4
a slip of stones...your sidelong glance,

an entire mountain to break our fall.

i want to tell you--as i tell you when

night doesn't know what's happening.

with the ritual of breath and its savage


you push from behind my eyes, and i


it's from there i hold words to your face

that pale, so i can live and die by comparison.

rocking forward and backward, side to side...

i can't undress and clothe enough.

i scratch at this split heart, and offer it a

crushing embrace when it breaks open.

it's you baby, it's you...the culmination of my

poetry--this final intensity.

i don't care about the next poem anymore,

the one i'm in is the *** of your country.

i'm content to roam...waiting for you to come out

into a clearing.
Oh sickly poisonous flame
Darting back and forth
I hear you call my name
It's not what they think, for what it's worth

One slip of the finger
And a tingling sensation
Smells of gas linger
Now for use of personification:

Its seems that you love me
For you never let me go
I feel pitiful in your embrace
And it seems that you know

You always take control
And oh how I'm fascinated by your flame
Skin swells and pain holds
In this endless torture game
The flames they rise up inside of me
an inferno of words, all screaming
to be the first to break my outer shell
to be the first to break me
to make me let one slip,
to form a *****, running down my face
inviting people to pull it open.
and as curiosity consumes most,
that one inferno risen word
will be the end of me
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