the point of a poem is the explanation (the clearer picture) through the fog. and now I’m lost for words – I’m sinking spinning falling shaking. falling further
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the point of a poem is the explanation (the clearer picture) through the fog. and now I’m lost for words – I’m sinking spinning falling shaking. falling further
Filed under: broken hearts | 1 Comment »
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all the punks come out in summer blinking, the shadows in there eyes – dissipate they walk on burning concrete dragging their heels breathing sweet air; finally they take the long way home out of spite for winter because they’re rebellious like that. its beautiful when they come alive
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Lukah was brave she dazzled, even me, enough to believe in the innocent intentions and those girls, the night she wore that red sweater i watched her spin through blue in mid-transformation and spit sweet smoke on the concrete as she designed blueprints for how to be human, here she’d been chasing Khyber all along [...]
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is it so wrong? i think she’s beautiful when she cries liquid seeping through her eyes, from glass to eyelash starfish and it scares me; to feel nothing; when i know i’m about to run; but i’m so uncontrollably distracted by her face in the unforgiving bathroom light.
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^ CLICK ME FOR ART
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“Life is just what happens to you, While your busy making other plans, Beautiful, Beautiful, beautiful, Beautiful Boy, Darling, Darling, Darling Sean. “
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