acererak

Poem

The inner world, for me Is a vast collection of imagery That blends each moment Into feeling Expressed so fleeting That even regret forgets itself That even success rots in reflection

on introspection, this world is stained glass

In one hand is paper The other a brick

My breath catches.

Spin, release

Feel my insides pour out of in rainbow splinters.

Around me, glass becomes sand A mural of spinning colors.

A torrent of unfinished, Unbound energy.

Infinity

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I draped myself in nonsense. it only seemed right. life, is a silly notion, and ill celebrate it tonight.

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Two lives, dance together, Twined experiences, sharing moments, so many small moments. they become their own language. become there own smell. So, It's hard for others, to understand.

We were apart from this world, Lost in ourselves. Close.

Now, with others, we aren't all here Parts of us still are dreaming

Two people, growing up Refusing to wake

A world that grew From simply saying hi

Life flourishing Everyday

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The window The breeze The sun The trees

All the things I see While I'm circling

The couch The rug The broken TV

All the things I see While I'm circling

A puzzle box A pantry bare Lots and lots of soft dog hair

All the things I see While I'm circling

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Departure.

Farewell.

When, you know that person, When, you saw them, It was the last time.

Now, it's nothing but memory, From now on.

That which is in us, kindles them, The them, you remember The them, you shelter

Memory.

Life isnt over I swear.

It could be; But I'll always remember

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I exist, little more than as a cautionary tale of what happens, when one time to many, I was told to wait, to be patient, to plan to put things off for a future I wanted to be living today.

I'm still waiting. But I can feel the walls relax. Writing isn't therapy but its better to see All the pent up lunacy In words, collected, singing on paper

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The shoreline stank of ambition. Diseased hubris from the Bodies of wasted human potential.

Even the waves lapped at the talent hungerly, Boiling over the desire and discontent.

The bodies, on the shoreline screaming

“I'm not understood,

“I'm already good enough,

“I need this more than you,

We share our joy So yours can be shamed We one up in the hope You'll stay the same

“Give up” the creatures pleaded

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How I feel when someone forgets about me. Selfish. Why should they? When all the things I like about me are what drive people away. They never say that I am the problem To them, its them. While to me, their everything Feels like my heart aches For someone to help me fix What I didn't break.

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I can't remember Walking my oldest child to school It's been that long ago That she's grown That I've stayed and stood

What is time to play with us? When present seemed so sweet That past memories are cooling That those never shall meet

I miss my grandparents I miss my little girls

The seasons came and stole them.

I never felt things move Yet. Time moves ever onward

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It's off – the way the willow lines the ways Sliding along the riverbank Like friends following a snake.

The wind tearing over the river Over the field Over my shoes Making all the little rocks tremble in the parking lot.

Even being here is special.

It's not every day you go to a cemetery. It's not every day the sun can feel this cold.

Yet you sit here and look out on the willows that even now take in the wind and breathe out soft echoing murmurs so quiet but you can hear them.

The laughter of better days Carried on the wind.

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