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Often mistaken for being a leader; Follower of thought alone is tiresome,
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I am diseased.
I trusted him.
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There’s a sickness to this world that makes me
Cringe
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I hear them whisper things in my ears on both sides,
Horrible, beautiful, riddle-like things.
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This somber desolation is my living tomb.
Trudging through time and space with liquid slowness.
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Seeping through the cuts on top of cuts on top of cuts on top of cuts.
A growing, putrid, square-like scar calls out,
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That once was filled to the brim with rum;
Liquid fire in a glass.
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They say that sunny days make you feel better
When you’re depressed.
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In this house, there’s silence untold.
A heart beats dully in the center of each memory,
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Fifty-seven tiny tears.
Point five milligrams each.
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Peel the flesh back,
From the chest cavity.
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I feel you, Silence.
I feel you in the dead of night,
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Such heavy-lidded disdain seeps from my words.
A bucket full of dreary sleepless nights,
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Where once there stood a stable child,
Playing in the park with the sun shining down on the reflective slide.
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Down here the light it comes from fire,
Limbs that cook in one large pyre.
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And now here you are,
Struggling to become something in a world where people dream,
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You are independent, alone and vulnerable
In times when you least expect it…
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The wastes that the unspeakable atrocity secretes
Produces blackness unlike anything I have ever encountered.
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A poem written for Rememberance Day.
Lest we forget.
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“Long live rock and roll!”
The sixties and seventies, gone, but never forgotten (Oh no).
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My fingers touch the fuzzy walls,
Graze the animal’s backs that never end.
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The dead walk along,
Dragging their feet to the tune of sorrow and grief.
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I wish the world would open their eyes.
I wish the world would see how disastrously, painfully, tragic these acts are.
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With beauty you’re speechless, no words to describe.
With horror there’s flooding, too much to say, too little time.
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They flourish, untouched.
No man’s land, where life is also death.
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I hunger to kill, I need death to survive,
With a world full of humans, my life-it will thrive.
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Black are the creatures that seek forever.
Dreams are nightmares and even death,
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The complexity and understanding of the world is distorted.
All the genes of the living;
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I’m going to die like this,
Over and over again,
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Foolish girl,
Your poetry is nothing but nonsense.
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Came from the notion that I emit toxic gas...metaphorically speaking, of course...
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Slowly lift a heavy head to see the world move forward.
Walk the dead man’s walk.
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you’re corrupt...make believe you’re better...that’s right...
Believe the lie...”
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