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I am hidden in dark closets of my mind over-run with skeletal remains
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the forest knows more about life than we did
trees reaching to the sky
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Vietnam War....many young teenagers came back from this war in an emotional crisis for years to come because of what they saw and did....ev
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orbital-consciousness, I am visually-insane
writing words in a puddle of tainted-green
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streamlined dreams
in colorful hues
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traced details reverbrating
across skull and skin
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skinny fingered thoughts
grasping for the last bite
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traced details reverbrating
across skull and skin
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A million moments missing / hiding past blind indifference / solely discarded chances thrown about / as the sun and moon frolick / humble i
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shadowed reminiscing about souls gone past
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it is forever that I keep moving weaving in & out of reality
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in withered time my skin believes
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raising a rebellious teenager
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in textured tweed and simplicity hair pinned back and glasses black
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we are the adults, do we blame the kids for our present, past and future? or do we look at our own contributions?
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thoughts that have led me to write poetry and prose...from a troubled childhood and disturbing ability to always live outside the box..I th
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just a little story of love and lust and denial and perhaps insanity?
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my thoughts about my grandad's death..(I am sure now, that he had Alzheimers disease as my own dad has now).I was only 6 when grandpa died,
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\*his hands ~ darkest brown ~ shaking my hand
my skin lost in muted colors ~ warmed in flesh thicker
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\*with twisted eyes & devil lies
she sat loosely on her chosen thrown
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\*beneath & over the past blue sunday
when you came to visit & brokenly said
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\*distant drums playing
for some mother's son
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\*the ghosts of happy children
racing through the field
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