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 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Phia
Be happy
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Phia
People say,
Be happy,
But for me,
Happy doesn't write
Good poems.
I don't write well about happy things, it's the pain and sadness that I use to write.
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Phia
Eggshells
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Phia
Will my feet ever touch solid ground?
Or will I be walking on eggshells
For the rest of my life.
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Raymond Psy
As he pressed his pen
Deeper into the paper
Forming letters into words
He sighs
As inks trickles
At the peak of the verse
He realized
Writing will never feel
As good as her
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Lexie
Agony
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Lexie
Yes
It's true
As much
As I wish
It to be
A lie
On the verge
Of dying
But alas
It is not
And I cannot
Breathe
Into this expanse
For it
I do not own
So just as a kiss
Id stolen
So this life
And now it rots
Off of my bones
And covers the stars
In life
Wasted
And tears
Much to salty
For life if fragile
And weak
But you
And your heart
Are strong
So pull me in
To your embrace
Lest I poison
The cosmos
With my selfish
Selfish agony
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Breeze-Mist
You keep asking me
"Why did you quit that class?"
Its been five years
And yet you all still ask

I have always said
"They kept changing the laboratory
I could never find the class."
But that's only half of the story

The other half of my tale
And the one much closer to truth:
The location wasn't such a hard mystery
I just stopped being a seluth

Because after a while I stopped
Even trying to look for the club
At that time I began
To stop caring about when it started up

See, at that time I began
To lose intrest in many things
I honestly would've flown away from there
If I just had a pair of wings

So the real reason I stopped
Ever showing up to that class
Was that, in the end, I stopped caring
Wether or not I would pass
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
PK Wakefield
who is alive thinks:

-sunlight

-dull air

          riven with

                     rose smell;


perchance which
the rain with
mingles.


(autumn is near
her dress is fine
her hair is long
and serious,

it throws over
the mountains
and is alive

with crips dampness)


the bed is smooth and deep.
it pulls deeply,
and arms wonder for dreams.

to be dreaming
in the fine arms of autumn;

whose dress is nice
and whose dull serious hair
is
  riven
      with
         rose
          smell.
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Phia
My bones
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Phia
These bones in which I live in
Do not make a home,
They make a prison instead.
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Magdalyn
DNA
 Aug 2016 AfterImage
Magdalyn
DNA
This dream head of mine
is bursting at the seams.
why is it that
I cannot like love songs
or love songs about liking
....
because they only remind me that
the happiness I feel now, is temporary,
like radio waves.
No song sounds the same twice.
If love decides to stick under my nails
and drip through the spaces between my fingers
(where yours fit perfectly)
my brain will malfunction, short-circuit
my hardwiring will misconfigure
and I might mess it up.
#t
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