

Obvisly SomethingMelonie I wanted to hold your hand, but you wanted a pounding. I.. forget it. Said I wanted to talk you bent away, maybe you just wanted to play. I had something to say, and you wanted to play. You were searching for a screw, not a nail like me. So close yet so worth it for so much more. So much things I can't say. Never even said goodbye.Obvisly Something
Hoping, even now and now, you'd come and listen and we could interplay?
But in these sour dayless weeks this world comes to crash down on me, smoke me. Making ash.
Did you want to see my light? Wanted me to ta


Swent.Love is poemSwent.
is a puddle of heavy rain. thawing my inspiration Inspiration is a fruit A month or two ripe but yet unspoiled, all sweet in flavor. Like that of poets delicate words placed upon ears of an uncaring world. Both so ripe and lush, to pick them without love a fault they'll turn to mush.


This tender momentI meet my mystery when shes' speaking nostalgic'lly her voice a remembrance to me. (of a love erupting early before dawn.) Her voice reminds me she speaks nostalgic'llyThis tender moment
as if she hints, unknowingly that something sparks a memory of me. In a twilight. I meet the meaningless when her voice reminds me that this love erupts much to early. Tonight, an utter a one word prayer and my voice disappears. unimaginable. My voice erupting over an agony much to palpable. That faint echo in my heart, of a young broken love, an


RandomI have the right to remain random So here I post my random thoughts My random feelings My random rights I'm tired of being told I'm to random How can you be to random? Is there a measurement of random somewhere? You have the right to be random Please excercise that right with me.Random
Carefully wrapped beautifully packaged Pure white paper Snow white bow The essence of a virgin wrapped in its beauty Ready to be given to the right somebody
Hear my woes All ye people
of the lands I'm tired I


CrowCrowCrow
Leland waits until after the Lucky is whistling in his lungs to ask me if I mind the smoke
its hammered in his leather jacket, sharing scents with blood on the sleeve, black nitrate.
He puts the cigarette out on his tongue, flicks the stub in the sink, spits strings of ash and wet melted skin the basin is heavy with animal-fat, petrified-bread crusts, a circuitry of fungus writhes imperceptibly out of its throat, blooms green-black, like a flower a fractal wing.
Yanns late. The drugs are late. Nirvana.
Som
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