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PERPETUAL DARKNESS

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Through a hole in ground
he fell
into a faded room.
Many people are there.
All talking.

Some're gesturing their hands awkwardly,
distorting their faces -
to help the words.

Not a word could he understand.
They all became a hum,
that made his body shiver.

God, is there anything else?

Keep on looking.
Keep on looking.

In accord they all repeated.
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Just me.
You always say that nothings ever good enough but you need to stop comparing me Because: I'm not her. I'm not him. and I can't be what you want me to be. I struggle, ad I struggle to find that perfect place that's just mine. But I know that if I do nothing will ever been good enough for you. I'm not her. I'm not him. and I can't be what you want me to be. I can only ever be just me. Some nights I wander, wondering if I'll ever be good enough. But as I look upon the sky there's nothing there asking for me to change. So I'll just realize that I can only ever be just me. Because, I'm not her. I'm not him.
© 2011 - 2019 Squirrelwolf-6y
This is poem from my second book of poems, written 1979 year, and published 1983 year.
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"you know, we are made of ugly things." "yes, but have you not heard? ugly is the new beautiful. like the way you always seem to pry at my thoughts and know what i'm thinking; the way you make me talk when i really don't feel like parting my lips and lying to you. it's just like the cyanide and razor blades i keep in my medicine cabinet, waiting for the day when i master the definition of defeat." "then we are the most beautiful thing in the world, because we are spending our days chewing on gunpowder and wilted roses. i spent ten minutes this morning carving your name on the inside of my thigh; somehow, replicating that pain makes me think
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When I was young, so very, very young, I was deeply in love with fans, propellers, windmills. I remember having these tiny little miniatures in plastic, with the most biting colour combinations; green-purple, red-yellow; and I'd just sit there, blowing, and merrily watch the fins swirl around. And when I first saw cogwheels and screws and crankshafts and eggwheels I floated amidst the gorgeous sorcery. I wanted to find out all about machines; how they where, through what and by which they stood, why they turned. What that meant. My father bought me a huge book, I read it. Didn't care about the text, I just looked at the pictures ov
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