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Random texts, confused conversation,
and practically dying of this anticipation.
Secret glances, embarrassed blushing ,
and trying to calm the heart that's rushing.
I wish I knew what was going on. There's just so much I don't know
The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.

We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.

As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.

Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.

In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .

How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?

The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?

Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.

half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.

Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times

The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.

The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.

The page forever bleeds.

Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.
This co write was a true honor and something I feel was way over due .
Helen honestly deserves far more credit than myself on this for her lines in this truly are brilliant.

I give her all the credit in the world cause co writing with me I know is far from easy but this write was truly a pleasure and I look forward to this being the first of many writes with her .

Cheers Helen
When you walk like you have 12 gage shotguns for lungs,
Your very breath is a weapon.

When you walk like you have pistols for hands,
Your very touch is deadly.

We did not ask for such a violent biology.
But we were born in the tide of oppression and forged in discrimination.
We did not ask for this.
This skin is a painting we do not get to wash away.
This story does not end when we wake up.

We live with the audacity to think we belong, knowing.
This was never out fate
A little something about what it means to be colored
 Feb 2015 Amber Bowen
susan
schooled
 Feb 2015 Amber Bowen
susan
i'm looking up at you
with tired eyes
silently begging you to

shut
     up


quit talking

take your arrogance
stuff it into that fake leather briefcase you carry
and hit it
   the road that is
bounce
   walk
     take a hike
and take your nonsensical words with you
your college bred
   egotistical
     masochistic
      *******

you have taught me

n o t h i n g

you obviously love the sound of your own voice
but to me
it's like the last swipe of the razor
cutting off my lifeline.

i want a refund.
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