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 Jun 2017
chris
you enchant me with your soft, glowing light
 Jun 2017
Akira Chinen
I sit out under the dying sun and feed the hungry mosquitoes of early summer and something else under my skin itches that bothers me more than the simply annoyance of tiny bugs enjoying the blood circling through my flesh and it's not something treatable with slaves or lotions or repellents and it isn't as simple as day turns into night and there just isn't anything that can be done about it but it's far more complex than it need be and should be easier to solve than it ever will be  because the ego of man pitted against intellect and compassion is an easy thing to ******* and nothing of nothing can be solved in the face of a man with a tiny brain that can't process same amount of electricity it takes a baby to say "mama" without short circuiting and going on a twitter rant like a pre-teen in a flame war over which Pokémon character could beat up The Hulk and it's just embarrassing to be human in today's world because I **** you not the dung beetles and cockroaches are life forms worthy of more respect than we are with the crap we're letting go on in today's world and it's just  a dam shame that I can't manage to do more with my blood and flesh then feed some tiny little bugs that don't have to worry about any of the ******* we willingly swim through on a day to day bases and it all bares the weight of a meaningless existence when the dollar out weighs the soul according to the Dow Jones and why should we be worth anything more than what we can do to profit those that have too much but still need more and more when the poor have just enough or almost enough to survive because as long as the poor have the will to survive on less and less and are willing to feast on the trash of the upper filthy class oh did I word that wrong I meant filthy rich in a haha good show James but who let the rift raft into the room way and if a lie is believed as the truth why not just make it the truth and put it into law and separate and divide and spread fear and hate to the gullible and take from the poor and give it all to the rich because god and the devil are dead or make believe or long gone because face it who in their right mind would battle for our wretched souls in the first place but at the end of the day at least I can watch the sun sink and feed something tiny that will at least leave an itch that I can easily scratch and if its all for nothing I'm going to toss it all away to anyone who needs the love because that's the one thing I'll always have for anyone who needs it and can see through all the ******* and is tired of swimming for nothing of nothing and if that's you or you or you come find me at the end of the day and maybe just maybe we can set things right or at least try to do something meaningful despite our meaningless existence
 Jun 2017
r
This unnatural light
like the last summer
before the last winter
sends the grackles
into the cedars
rattling their wings
in the evergreens
making a sound like Ishmael
casting his bones
on the deck of Ahab's ship.
 Jun 2017
Pax
often tough times taught us to write.






© pax
I'll leave this quote to everyone...
thanksss....
 Jun 2017
chris
what little light that’s left, we need to keep it sacred
i know that you’re afraid to let all the dark escape you
but we can let the light illuminate these hopeless places.
 Jun 2017
r
I saw a girl in a wheelchair on her porch
and wasps were swarming in the cornice

She had just washed her hair
taken it down and combed it

She could see
just like me

That one star under the rafter
shining like a knife in the creek

She was thin as the hereafter
and made me think

Of music singing to itself
like someone putting a violin in a case

And walking off with a stranger
to lie down and drink in the dark by the lake.
 Jun 2017
sol
what a lovely thing it is
to know
you gave your heart
but not
your soul

yet you still lost it all
because you forgot
that when you signed
your heart away
your soul was
the fine
print.

this is what you get
when you try
to share
your life
with another.
 Jun 2017
sol
archeologists brush dust away from bones,
like memories from empty homes.
here i sit among rubble and ruin,
amidst broken picture frames strewn.

this is the scene i remember the most.
my words are written, jagged,
in a notebook forgotten, ragged am i
as my eyes shine like broken glass.

my bones turn to rust, to dust.
i brush away my remains from this grave
of a home i no longer remember.
among portraits i am no longer a part of.

november comes around with its bells,
bellows loud that i am not welcome here.
it brings fallen petals of blood red rust.
i am stained with agony and painful lust.

for a time that does not forgive,
and as the cold sweeps in i know,
november is the time of sin, for me.
i was born in a time that does not forgive.

the picture frames will not let me back in.

i / am / absent / here
eh. free write about ruin.
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