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Two inconnu sheathed within sight of one moon
Betwixt embers'and uppers consumed by whom
Two nocturnal allies have each exhumed
By Caffeine and Adderall's swindling tomb
And Nicotine's cluches; an imbibing room

He can't spell    
I can't speak    
Parallels      
None bespeak    

He's got canines and relatives
To replete empty spots
Whilst a book full of lies
Keeps my soul ersatz.
So, too soon or too late
I will resume
And instigate
This nighttime bloom

For Phil Roberts
http://hellopoetry.com/phil-roberts/

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
If I'm being honest
I'm tired of being a poet.
I'm tired of findig meaning in everything from the lines of the sky to the cracks in the side walk
I'm tired of using extended metaphors to explain how overwhelmed or angry or sad I am 
I'm tired of immortalizing the people I love or hate in half assed lines of poetry
For once I would like a good day just to be a good day or a bad day just to be a bad day
A landscape to hold no higher meaning than to magnify the glory of existence
For the people I know to hold no cosmic significance in the fabric of time
I would like to sit and be quiet
To write and be at peace
For the storm to pass over
And to find some relief
This is not a game for me this is how I breathe and I am tired of having to hold meaning in every crack and every crevice
My poetic nature has become a menice in my tired skin
I'm tired of letting the light in
But this isn't something you quit
This is something you breathe
This is something you are
This is something you need
Even if it doesn't make sense all the time
This is the one true thing I know that's mine
My sense of rhythm and my sense of rhyme
And it isn't easy all the time
Because these days life moves faster than I've even known
Faster than I can process what I've been shown
These days it's easy to feel the weight of all of my time spent alone
My mind isn't home
I'm chilled to the bone
These days I'm tired of being tired and tired of writing about how tired I am
Like I'm six feet under but I'm not yet dead
Using poetic devices to say what's already been said
I'm tired of playing this game
Imortalizing name after name
I still feel the same
Even though I still keep writing
So what I'm trying to say is that I need poetry like I need water but sometimes if you drink too fast or you drink too deep you feel like you're drowning
Out to sea in familiar surroundings
It's astounding how tiring being a poet can be.
I'm tired of myself
my mother used to drink
she never
talked
so much.

and during the passing of
poison to the
relevant wires
she spoke of how
great it was
to be alive
and that
most did not know this
fact.

she used to dance so wild
and free and unknowing in
her knowing of the freedom
of this
life like
the wilderness.
 Feb 2016 Zach Lubline
hadley
breath
 Feb 2016 Zach Lubline
hadley
his sweet breath
a siren song
what can I say?
see, I breath only in prose
so broken that it takes transcription
just to utter a word
when the floodgates of my mind are open
my tongue knows no boundaries
the flower of my words
sweet on my lips
candied roses
I sigh in sonnets
only later to realize that
the song had been rewritten

as
                the
words          
          tumbled
out                

the candy are now cough drops
a hint of what they appear to be

      
his breath is a siren song
and mine is a stanza so delicate
that it doesn't know where to start
or


stop.
 Feb 2016 Zach Lubline
hadley
his eyes
will never see
my eyes
watching them
curtains of classroom lights
will paint a portrait
of a prettier girl
for his eyes
to watch
instead of me
my eyes
a barren desert
his eyes
the ocean
 Feb 2016 Zach Lubline
Maxwell
I see nothing
but you
&
You see
everything
but me

— The End —