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 Feb 2014 Ashley
Andrew Durst
I'm pacing back n' forth in the recesses of my mind.
Thinking about tomorrow; as if I have the time.
I've got a book of regrets and a list of excuses.
Stitches for the cuts and ice for the bruises.
I've got the heart of a warrior but the guts of a coward.
And I'm always screaming inside my mind; as if silence could get any louder.

I'm trying to stay positive; I'm trying to learn.
But it's hard to move forward when your "success" is everyone else's concern.
They're always breathing down my neck and saying things like "you can do better!"
But I guess they don't know that my ambitions change with the weather.
I can't explain it or even begin to understand why.
It's something that's out of my control no matter how hard I try.
I wrote this several days ago. Never posted it. Enjoy.
It's a night in paradise,
while I contemplate sleep knowing it would be wise,
but like an alcoholic with nothing else on his mind,
every thought ends up being you I find,
a day would be suffice,
a night would be greater than nice,
I want to tell you I need you in the worst way,
and I do when you wake up everyday,
but the miles seem to get just that much longer with every moment,
and there maybe nothing I can do aboot it,
like the years that separate yet fit,
so I will sit in paradise and think of your little texan town,
and realize with a smile with shades of a frown,
that maybe a couch and a sleepy smile maybe tough,
to make me realize it will always be enough,
so smile.
yeah, I'm kinda still in that mood...sorry again for not keeping up with you dear readers...and I will! (even though I know I have failed at that before >.>)
 Jan 2014 Ashley
Aarya
For Ellen:
 Jan 2014 Ashley
Aarya
If I could,
I would pick up my ink pen
and drown an ocean into you
instead of drowning you in it.
Extract these rotting feelings
for the sake of your ignorance.
Carve scriptures into each delicacy of your brain
so you wouldn’t have to dwell in such misery every day.
Wire faith
to your blemished heart.  
Imbue purity
to your sullied soul.
If I could,
I would write you through all depths of insanity
without any harm
so that your
mind no longer persists the thought of death.
There was a time I thought you were dead.
Only you were painted red
in a black and white world.
Like you have been walking barefoot on a broken road
your whole life.
Your demons imitate life
And life imitates the demons.
You are the one being tied down by invisible, nonexistent chains.
So unaccepting of help that has come for you
Watch  
the sun touch the horizon
reach the meeting of sun and ground
and
Find further still,
The limits you would like to reach only run from you.
You have such a murderous tongue
for society  
people.
But one day I hope to see you write yourself into existence
Rather than to let yourself drown in it.
Why has you dying become something so habitual?
Darling, death is not a friend of yours
Nor are you a friend of his.
But I know of your frequent dates with death
Tell me
Does his neck feel like happiness
And do his lips relieve you of your suffocation
Now
are you lost?
or are you found?
Do you recognize the irony  
Of the most terrifying things happening in the most angelic places
Charm yourself upon that bridge
Whose lights light up the city in golden arrays
With a glazed look
you’d think.
In sadness seen go by
You are charmed by either war or hope.
These occurred robberies have taken much
But they left opportunity
Important people
And a moon in your window
A future that only you know the ending of  
And a slice of the midnight sky.
So it goes.
 Jan 2014 Ashley
Guss
Mr. Walter Ego
 Jan 2014 Ashley
Guss
I tell myself,
"Go dine tonight on memories,
on the fleeting thoughts of misery,
the tale tell signs of ignorance,
and the blind reliance on energy."

My other self then chimes in,
"But the beast still silent,
hiding in the shadows,
waits to prey on you
as you yourself feast upon the world."

"Good luck with that, Me", I say.
Continuing my meal,
and cutting Me off short.

Thats the day I watched my ego walk away.
I try not to let it phase me
but truth be told it did.
None the less I bit the Bulleit,
the elixir to my problems.
I think tomorrow my ego
is finally gonna come home.
I have to close this chapter in the book,
it doesnt matter how it will read or how it will look,
because even the worst memories get brighter,
as age gets dimmer like a dying lighter,
right meow it will be looked at as a year for hate,
a year to commiserate,
maybe a year to accept the growth in me,
or a time I was most free,
it was a year for love,
or maybe it was just all of the above,
but that's every year I suppose,
just like every poet rhymes,
and has pros,
every year makes me happy,
and every year makes me feel down in the dumps,
its a just a game,
"Of streaks and slumps"
so here's to the next year
of happiness and fear,
love and anger,
thrashing and quiet,
raises up glass to my friends I have and havnt met yet
Lets all make a bet,
to be have good days and bad,
so that next New Years,
there will be something to be a had
I'm pretty terrible with themed poems, and I usually try to avoid them...the streaks and slumps is in quotation marks because its something my father(sjr1000, his stuff puts my stuff in a cannon and blows it oot of the water) says for everything from life to basketball...Happy New Years everybody, I wish I could actually have a drink with all of you, instead of a vitual one...
what the hell, this is good enough right?
I want to write a masterpiece,
that puts my ego and drive to peace,
I want to make something that gets the masses to stammer and quake,
feeling oot the true humanity and delivering nothing fake,
something to make them feel love and heartache,
to give them a rise,
by building them up with beautiful lies,
and tearing them down at their peak,
making their own head and heart something deep inside,
they have to seek,
but brick by brick I'll build them back up to my side,
they will feel consciousness spread across the great divide,
when I do this master work,
I'll give them each a piece of my soul to lend,
and then the poem will end.
Long title that I thought would sound cool...I think this poem is a badass one...hopefully you will too
Staring at empty screens and pages,
I must have read this ******* sentence through multiple ages,
but my mind drifts away,
they used to call me Holden,
I dont have half a head of grey hair I would say,
jumbled in my jaw,
and feeling bare and raw,
I need to do something aboot this,
but why cant I just attain a certain degree of bliss?
Is it because I want my life to be a sad poem,
at least that's what she said on the phone,
maybe she was right?
I'm in love with being a tragedy at the end of the night,
need a reason to be in my room,
to shake this feeling I might have till I am dead,
then I noticed,
I forgot to make my bed.
this is kinda scatterbrained I know, not very coherently put together, more just a bunch of lines that kinda have a semblance of order, I might go back and make it two poems...let me know if I should keep this way or try to break it down into other ones.
I first met God when from me he bummed a cigarette,
I asked him how I can win this bet,
and to let go of her and be ok,
he asked which girl with a smile in a way,
I said all of them because I just want to hear all of them say,
you were alright,
he took a drag and said we had met before,
when I was again in Florida I was feeling this down and poor,
we had a drink,
you asked what this life was all about,
and with a smile with shades of a pout,
I told you that only you could figure that out,
his cigarette was done and so was mine,
I asked again if this was just a waiting line,
or just a road covered with dust,
he flicked it and said that I always will have my lust,
for the future,
for the present,
for the past,
and I may feel like in the line I am last,
but really there is no line or road,
and this isnt a secret code,
he said I was ok,
then asked for another cigarette.
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