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Satelles Dec 2014
thing is;
 i never wanned to admit it,  but, 
i did miss you,
 you just hurt me a lot
i don’t give a **** about your drunken texts,
 or phone calls, for god sake,
 you wreck everything,
 you’re so ******* fake
don’t you dare blame me,
 this is on you,
 i’m finally free,
 of *******,
 yeah i finally broke through
thing is;
 *******, for getting up and leaving.
Similar feelings have never arisen in this body.
I am filled in my core with electric
Wishing Washing, Cascading, lightly
up through my center, up through my chest
With in me, are waves of unexplainable.
Tides of Ecstasy, moving.

Laughing, crying waves of  emotion.
The music touches me, the thought of silence

touches me

You touch me.

I see the sky and I feel the wind, and God Touches me.

and I am filled with ecstasy.


How could I ever lose sight
of a feeling so true
A light that is so bright
shining at me from you

A son in the sky
A quarter till two
An Eternal life
A Half wanned Moon

And when the Stars pulse I surge
and when the Sky speaks, I learn
and when You touch me I feel
and when I  Breathe deep

I can tell you everything thats wrong,

Who knows whats real,

*who knows whats real
Laura Gray Nov 2014
When he asked her
What made her do it,
what pushed her
to such a dark place

The well of excuses
she had used a thousand
dried up from her lips
ground to a halt

“It was the only way to feel good,
an addiction I couldn't help
I needed to do something.”
But nothing she said could fix her mistakes

Under his loving eyes
she squirmed in her nightgown
thin fabric hiding the
scars of a not so distant past

“I don’t understand, why would you
hurt yourself so much?” His words hit her
and her guilt bubbled up
black anger and black words.

“It’s not a big deal.
It’s over. I’ll never do it again.
Keep out of my business.” And the
conversation closed.

But demons are not so easily slayed
and fears, the all consuming
darkness, not so easily
assuaged.

Three weeks he was gone,
not to be back till the sixth
and yet on the fifth late in the night he came
three white roses in hand

ruby red lines painted
her thighs, guilty tears
painted her forced smile
Bad timing or good?

She knew he would yell
He couldn’t understand, wouldn’t understand
blame he had yet to lay
hands clinched for rejection

But he pulled her close
suit soaking up the red
absorbing her pain
clinging to her desperately

“I don’t want to lose you.”
voice raw with love
“I don’t understand, so
help me too”

It was enough for her.
The wall she hand built with such bitter care
shattered, she shook
crying past temptations away

hours wanned, he treated
her wounds, wound up with her on
white sheets, tangled together,
holding her as she spoak

Baring her soul to her swain
she talked until her voice was raw
until the stars faded, and her
burden was lighter than she had thought possible

And after that night
two become closer, every jagged edge
known by the other. They lived for each other
breathed for another

Another time, she could pull herself out of bed
she could open her eyes
and wonder, with that elusive curiosity,
what the day would show her

And the darkness of that endless night
could not push through
the twining of their limbs
and the knotting of their souls
Paul Glottaman Feb 2010
They were wrapped in anything they could find.
The wind biting at them,
as the rain pelted every layer of cloth
they had swaddled themselves in.
It was difficult to remember
what brought them there in the first place.
To this monument of forgotten men and monsters.

Once upon a time they would gather,
all their materials put together
in the center of the room,
as the game went on.
It was always the same game
in those sepia toned days.

Now they stand there, trying to
cry for a fallen friend,
but unable to fight back the betrayal
in their hearts. Their words were hollow
,their strength had wanned.
The rain mingled with the dirt.

They had once discovered the fairer ***.
Hormone driven conversations
about the lurid things they would do
if ever given the chance.
Caught up in the notion that *** was
somehow life. Somehow it would
make them men.

Men now stood where
there should have been boys.
Only days ago
they were children. How could it
be misread so badly?
They assumed that growing up was
going to be slow, and fueled by wild
nights and the women who would
come and go. Now, in the rain stained
world they find themselves in as men,
it only took mutual tragedy.

When we were children we used
to pull the blankets up to our chins.
Repeating the same tired mantras
again and again, the more we can
repeat it, the more it will ring of truth.
“I'm alone in this room.
There is no such thing as monsters.”

— The End —