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Tighten the blindfold as you plant mines in
the fields where flowers should go, and be picked.

Tread stumbling under a drunken veil as your rioting
nerves loot the last remnants of reason within you.

Allow your sanity to fall victim to the systematic madness,
that from day one grew within you.

Pity will be that rusted shovel to fills one of
the open graves that already inhabit that dreaded field.

The graves, merely open wholes from the former seats of mines,
from this song and dances history.

What more can be done, past the repetition of returning to square one,
fallen on a sword of false humility?

The con is no longer clothed in deception and stands
naked in one of those accursed graves.

Her voice is putrid, of a terrible act, diving off a devils
tongue shaped like a fork in the road.

Perhaps your final tears will sprout flowers over
the small patch of dirt, as I intend to leave none.
You've earned the weight of the world upon your shoulders in your search for redemption. No pressure.

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I can hear the music,
playing in my head...
That brick wall melody,
that leaves me dry and bled.

Back out, unsound, way past
The naive embrace,
clutched like the withering vine,
so doubted in commonplace.

That sorrowful harmony,
with mysterious limbs
running like mad
through my mind, so dim with fog.

In my wake do I hear that music
of the morbid and downtrodden sound...
Sweet, the symphony of my imagination...
the chaos, although so profound.

Stained, my face with the misery
Of this occupation of thought,
not much, yet the burdens are stiff
within the acidic net, am I forever caught.
When the mind is broken, sanity is just a few locked doors away.

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Exhaustion, Oh my limbs, my body whole.
What they feel that my heart does not.
I just wish to return to my place of slumber,
where what is dreamt came make me regret.
The cold sweat is the moment I awaken...
Knowing nothing, and remembering little.

Hunger, my belly for fulfillment so sweet...
The theory behind so many burdens,
the many weights on these weary shoulders,
That I have ever called my own.
And now my knees are my feet,
covered with the hoof prints of a dead horse.

Tell me God, the Creator in a Kingdom his own...
Tell me of my purpose in the method you wish...
Tell me once more if not a million times...
As for this all, the new and unwanted-
I have no push left in me...For this---
I feel nothing...
Again, I'm homesick, and the longer I'm away, the more life is sucked out of sanity is a different story.
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They said
she has starving
little poet fingers,

& lungs-

filled with
the heroic hearts
of nameless protagonists.

But, she cries

tears of Saturn
on too-little-sleep nights,
& coffee ringed mornings.

They call her vanilla.

much too ripe to fall
with freckles on her
singing connect-the-dot

Her love is hungry.
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" Angels don't exist. "

I once said
Lost dreams, failed life
Lead me to desperation

All could see my grief
As the broken heart was dying
In this soul so dark

" I feel warm embracing touch. "

You were always with me
My eyes so blind, I couldn't see
My head full of voices, I couldn't hear

Constantly you offered help
Never let me alone, never forgotten
Your eyes saw my pain

" Look at me, Fallen Angel. "

I could finally feel your love
Reached towards your hand
So you could fly away with me

Two angels with lost souls
Found salvation

Let my dark, broken wings protect you

Your white, pure ones will never wither away

" Death Angel was with his Shattered Angel once again. "
Story which became true.
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My, what hope lies
in the half empty glass,
trembling by tremor and leer.
At such a long road's end,
does it rise and shatter.

What understanding have you,
of fear, of pestilence,
other than the existence of self.
Imposed, the creation
to be eventually bled out.

Filthy, the very cause
by which the water rises,
boiling with blisters
in the overwhelming sin
of the ever beating sun above.

Freedom, to the acrostic asininity
now found laughing atop the grave...
the grave of past gone by,
decaying with every bite
of a gluttonous sloth with an ancient cause.

That to my eyes, the mass hysteria,
borderline loss of sanity from the commonalty.
Have I lost track or do my eyes deceive,
the horsemen's tracks are of disarray,
and I know not which one has come.

Now, the angels look onward,
gazing with hopeless eyes,
searching for faith in the fallen creation,
who now wither and crawl,
away as they fall, into the Abyss....

Declines, the signs of the end,
the near and far come and go,
as the war seeps through the inhuman nature!
My, what filthy freedom
that now declines....
First fallen angels, then the humans.

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Each scar is because of you.
You're the one to make my blood bloom.
The empty pain I feel inside,
foreshadows my deep demise.
I'm sick of crying,
I'm sorry for trying.
I should have ended when I was born,
then maybe no heart would be torn.
I wish my breath did not start,
and maybe even my heart.
Growing up is the hard part,
I really didn't want to start.
I wish it was easy to say goodbye,
so then maybe I could die.
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I have found myself somewhat careless
the way my mind softly whispers your name
how I now have to struggle to hold you in
my clenched teeth, your prison sentence

Failing, my mind conjures up false delusions
your presence, your brow furrowed in thought
your eyes testing my wit, jaw taught with want
for these precious moments of mine, you exist

Standing just steps from me, still unreachable
my own personal torture, yet I revel in it willingly
the distance between us, my unyielding bonds
feet glued to where they now tremble, my lashing

Such a silly mess, to fear one's own creation
my heart screaming your name in frantic beats
watery eyes fasten shut, until alone once more
though the spirit that is you still flows within me
"I think I might have inhaled you
I can feel you behind my eyes
You’ve gotten into my bloodstream
I can feel you flowing in me"

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I am a survivor
Because I wish to survive.

I am a dreamer
Because dreams are my break from reality.

I am a lover
Because I yearn to love.

I am a seeker
Because I will seek for my joy.

I am an observer
Because I can observe my enemies,
and know the score.

I am a killer
Because I kill to save others.

I am a hunter
Because I will hunt for truth and lies.

I am a decider
Because I can decide if I can trust you.

I am a teacher
Because I teach the future.

I am a student
Because I still learn.

I am a fighter
Because I do not believe in surrender.

I am a hater
Because the world dispises my spirit
and wants to bring me down.

I am a rebel
Because when the world spits in my face,
I will spit back.

I am a leader
Because I refuse to break down.

I am a wise one
Because wise one's understand lies.

I am a child
Because I can still laugh at other's stupidity.

I am an adult
Because I can put up with you.

I am innocent
Because my heart throbs with ignorance.

I am robbed
Because I still feel the pain.

And I am a survivor
Because survival is not my first concern,
but it happens to me anyways.
I wrote this a whle back, about a person whose been through hell and back, who is able to rise above the pain and misery, and stands before the world, defiant and unafraid.
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