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Prepare for a bitter ramble. A bunch of words as a tight thunderstorm. You can’t escape it only get torn to pieces. I feel like that lately. Wanting to just scream. I feel like something is crawling across my skin and its anxiety without a name. Bitter memories and unquenchable thirst to thrive without any direction. Maybe, I have too many directions I can walk. I’m left standing just looking at foot prints. Not making new ones.

This feels like a wasteland. Whats worse than being dead is being alive and not truly living. Not in the moments. Things are just happening and you’re a bystander to your own life. I wish I could paint everything black and white but leave me in color. I just want to run touching everything. I’ll paint the colors I want to see. Follow and flow in new directions without fear I’m going to be slaughtered. Yet, I’m in a mad house. Inside my own mind is a fun house of a smaller version of me deeply afraid I’m not going to move. That my skin will grown old and wrinkle to dust and in the dirt what could I say I had really achieved but took up space on this earth. 

I'm watching Clocks

Thinking of Teeth

Struck inside and out

What do you know

At night when thoughts

Dance inside your head


Are we blessed to

Half hold on when

We want to let go



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Palms so cold

that holding your hand

felt no different than ice


we were talking about space

how we'd move far away

planet to planet

seeing stars

off in the distance

yet we were what we...

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I'm sorry


for holding your breath

with my small hands

Your luscious lips biting at my finger tips


I'm sorry for standing too close

asking for your time

as If I could raddled clocks


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Where are you at?

The edge

looking at the sun

condensed in to a light pole

The rhythm of darkness

like piano keys

playing a melody

that only the lonely could hear

bed sheets playing


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