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I stenciled your name across my corneas In permanent marker.
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A penny for my thoughts? Fuck that. I'll take
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Call me voyeuristic.
I love to watch
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Petals tend to fold inward
When the gloaming creeps across the sky,
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You know that Odin isn't
Real, and I'm sure you haven't
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I used to babble psychedelic rainbows.
On an appropriate
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Drip away, liquid barley
Caramel, and dribble foam;
by lockthedoor
28 lines, 2 comments,
on May 10 4:30 PM 2008
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Am I the cold reflection found
In folds of crushed then flattened foil?
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Dusk yawns, and
Casually stretches to
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I suppose that everything began with a bang
(If I can't trust hearsay I might as well
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I can't really "do" anything.
I couldn't build a birdhouse to save my life
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Synopsis?
I've realized there's little point
by lockthedoor
31 lines, 3 comments,
on Mar 5 5:52 PM 2008
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Can any person dip a pen and
Drip
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I'm tired. Black as pitch (or so I've heard;
I've never seen that stuff before) the night
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A muffled crunch escapes the silent scape
And slips among the drifts and drooping bow'rs
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I heard two ladies
All bright and shiny,
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O, fervent hope: it still remains;
That I might, by another's gain,
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Although she has but one desire
It slips into the black'ning mire;
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I'll sit and fart and scratch and pause
And try to try and feel,
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I felt, erstwhile, that I should take
A little trip to parts concealed;
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I'm riding in a Chevy
With my whitewalls wearing thin,
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This is an epic tale
About the Reefer-Man
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In times that I would loose upon a page
The host of ardent bards that hide inside
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Hidden deep, in dark places of my Own reckoning, lies the festering dream
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What hides behind
Each fragmented flicker of
Ego?
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The lidless eye that lights my dream And shrouded soul that slides behind,
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Listen closely, pretend to care And I'll tell you a rumor...
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I'm going to churn a batch Of brain butter
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Garnished trees at ground do meet,
Where silent footfalls' absent feet
Hint at life not long since past;
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Out of sight, out of mind, they did proclaim,
And with good reason. For who can deny
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So it's over eh? I'm not good enough?
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Ever have I been the thorn to their rose,
And e’er shall I remain. For how many
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