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SojournI have no power leftfrom the wide-eyed attemptat changing the courseof the river.There is no time leftto sow the seedsfor forestsin my future.In the dreamscapethere is no vision leftof the right wayto sail for death.It will simply come to this,the journey home,the nothingness,the peace.
SailorI set out to test the watersand push my limits,but the depths were hungry,and the limits fluid,far too close to shore.All the complexities,the terror and the pain,flooded the brain,drowning the factthat happiness can only risefrom deep within.It is your own damn jobto learn how to swim.
The simple endSo it seems thatas the years go bylike autumn leavesin snaking rivers,the sense of distanceis swallowed by the sea.So it seems thatthere are no perfect circles,only jagged linesfolding on themselves.So it seems thata human bodyis simply matterlessfrom violent beginningto the simple sweetnessof the end.
SupermassiveReality never bendsto human expectation,it simply does its thingand becomes the consequences.At times it blossoms perfeclyin the gardens of our creation,but when it dies and rots away,we may have been the poison.No result is guaranteed,even when thoroughly tested,but life is all but barrenwithout the seed of risk.And in the end,strange beauty growsfrom feeling thingsbig enough to break you.
SuprasolarWe call it the Local Group,this, our neighborhood of galaxies,in which only a single staramong billionsis even remotely reachable.And we tell ourselvesto dream big.That hard workwill get us there.But on the cosmic scaleour collective capacityis nothing.For every star in the Milky Way,all four hundred billion or more,there is a galaxy.Even the Local Groupis nothing.Yet since dreams are orbitalwe hold our breath to reach them.And when we perish in the vacuumthe stars still burneverything that matters.
Forest fireWe were snaking up the I-84through Deadman Passin the Blue Mountainsof northeastern Oregon,where stories write themselves.The trees are evergreen, you said,defiant spruce and pine and firprotruding from dirt and rocks,exclamation pointsfollowing the death of everything else.I recall a membrane of cloudsat the apex, a reminder of bordersthat should never have been crossed,as overanalyzed by a tired mind.It may or may not have been there.We penetrated the veil,the first Chevyto sputter onto the Moon,monochrome and lifeless,under a radiant crystal sky.The fire had ravagedthe land to the boneleaving us trappedin the rib cage of the world.Something else descendedinto the desert below,but it was no longer us.
AwokenFor years I slept with open eyesand fibrous dreams, cut into shapesso real to the touch.It took a shock to wake me upand shed my baby skin.The cold is raw now,honest and lethalto a naked body,freezing wordssolid in the throat.Light once imaginedshines no more.Love once whisperednow rings hollowamong the echoesof the dusk.
Why the ostrich bleedsI have oversharedenough.
StarpulseTen foldsof singularityaround and aroundthat lucid pain& sing acrossthe great dividelike a pulsar,a throbbing star.Let them hear youlong after you fallthrough your heart-holeinto the never/ever& keep them wonderingwhy.
bitter.somewhere between his gasping green eyesthere is the lip printof a woman he doesn't remember.she doesn't exist to him anymore(speck of ash in a city that she is),but she does to me.so when he comes home,I grab him by the tieandslam him to the wallandkiss himharduntil the press of my lipsdefiles the grave of a girl who oncethought he was beautiful.
Brown Eyes Compliments, and AnalogiesBecause I'm sick of people saying there aren't any.Your brown eyes are like the deep intoxication of campaign wine, bubbling with hazing richness and expensive taste.Your brown eyes are like the color of mahogany wood- comforting and home-steady toughness that lets me know you will be the beams of supporting me.Your eyes remind me of Dove chocolate, smooth, creamy, delectable, and melting.The color of brown eyes remind me of mountain terrain and nature, something subtle, but beautiful in every form and season.Brown eyes make me think of Devil's cake, taunting and tempting, curtained by black lashes, the symbol of rich seduction.When brown eyes delve in love, they become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life, and devotion.Your brown eyes remind me of mysterious secrets, dark to cover the pain of ignorance, opaque to cover to want of another.Brown eyes are like the stable ground, steadier and prepared to embrace you when you fall, into a nurturing a
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one. When she cries herself to sleep six out of seven nights a week you must say nothing. You must simply take her in your arms and kiss her gaunt, pale cheeks and wait for her to slumber at the sound of your heart.two. On the days where she wishes she were part of the stars, tell her no. Tell her that there are too many lights in the sky and that just one would be forgotten the moment you looked away from it. Tell her that she is perfect the way she is: completely human.three. Don't let her think about the scars that no one but her can see. If she says "I think I'm broken" smile like you know a secret and say, "No, you're mending." But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A PenisDo not assume (if I hold the door for you),that I am making a statementabout your inabilitiesto open the door for yourself.If you hold it for me,I'll say 'thankyou'.Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),that I am underestimatingyour earning capacityas a woman.If you invite me out for a meal,you're paying.Do not assume (if I defend your rights),that I am belittlingthe attempts that you have madeto defend your rights yourself.If you defend my rights,I'll consider you human.
Open WoundsOpen Woundslife is but an open woundalways pouringforever drowining usnever slowingpeople are foolishto think that they can stop usbut they canteach one of us is filled with flawsgood and badwe are differentyet the sameno one can truely seewhat we seethey will never understandthe painthe sufferingthe anguishthere might be others like usbut we are alone
.you’ve got the heart of a lionin a glass chest
.He nestles acornsin the crookbehind my ear,crawls into my collarboneto mound pine needlesbetween myhead and heart.I hope he'llspend his nights here,secrets kept safe in me.
on free speechtry to write a poem about politics and it comes out treason. saychange is not the can or the street but maybe kick, or lack thereof.the President says there is no need for panic.the hero fires his rifle into the crowd hoping for applausethe hero was a quiet boy, always such a good kidsee: smiling child frozen on refrigerator doorsee: weeping mother makes plea for salvationthis American daydreamsay news exclusive, say family, or values,say where did all these bodies come from?the President says his prayers go outsay a mute god is better than none at allsay i must be lying or else not telling the whole storysay this ain’t blood it’s kool aid; at least it’s something sweetwho said anything about them? in the dream a man lines his pockets with mouthsand takes a seat, bloated, at the tablein the dream this hero calls himself Americathe President says the same old storysay here, the President is metaphor for progress. or
EmoSo what if I'm emo?So what if I cry?I'm not THAT emotional,I dont want to die.So what if I dress in a different style?There's no need to scream and run for a mileI dont like to cut and abuse my arm,I am not depressed,so why cause self harm?Could it be that I am just like you?That I can smile, giggle and laugh along too?Could it be that I am happy with myself?It's just that I am not some pretty doll on the shelf.Could it be that the only reason i dye my hair black;Is because I dont want to be some barbie in a bimbo girl pack.These are the reasons, and I'll tell you why,that I dont look in the mirror and start to cry.I know Im not perfect,I'm sure you will agreeBut I am so very positive,as positive as can beThat Im not like you,Oh dont make me laugh!I dont spend hours on my make-up's maskI'm totally self-confident,Ill smile for all to see.Because the great thing about being emo,Is that I am happy, with just being me.Dont be afraid of who you are.<
AsylumRing sparkround the greycorridors -shock start;are the patientsstill in cells?