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They will speak of me in a downward tone
with a voice of mourning upon the funeral of dead soldiers
they will sing of me in avant garde with octaves hitting the lowest
pit in the fires where souls banish and come back for continuous agony
hands reaching out of a purgatory living in the walls of this asylum will
move in rhythmic patterns of a high fashion and a noble art
elegant and unwilling, shaking and drilling
breathing you will see the souls of these anarchists rise
from the stigmatic allure of their concentrated assets
reaching out as if to hold back shunning all the disbelief that pain is the
obscured enemy of this life, when all he teaches is the appreciation of happiness
violence and how it intricate's  a human welt
barred in chains of a forsaken emotion
deeply rooted in the hearts of a barren people
I will speak these words forever as I walk through a muse of history
with each second that passes I will preach my sighs of a
hopeless pain
I will refuse to lock myself behind thick wooden doors inside
when it rains
my diary leaks with its tattered and frail pages symphonies of a deep
understanding on what is hidden in the eyes of those humans
who spark my deepest curiosity in the gazes of a mournful living
a light tap on the shoulder and I will drop and show you how these things bleed,
like animals spirits hunting and killing their unseeing prey
there is no survival here only a continuation of evanescence and death
and moments of a calming laughter in between
exposing myself to life's blood time and time again,
and a acquired taste for wisdom
and that deep pit that the miners of life dig through me to find my diamonds
and when they do, I am happy
but the hole goes in so deep that I am left with no breathe and I am drained of life
so that I may wake up in the morning anew and lively again
come into me and speak to my reaper
so that I may expose the divinity that I
hide away in my jewelery box of art and criminal behaviors
a Victorian and bizarre mistress
I have held the hearts of many in between my man like hands consumed by a womanly fragrance
my neck pulsates, and you can see my veins
I tear down these curtains
they will speak of me and how I have no shame
 Aug 2011 Elouise Roux
OnlyEggy
Twisting thoughts of a bed left yearning
Stretching across sheets that thirst for a touch
Embracing blankets that cover your naked body
Taunting ****** outlines begging for me to clutch
Beckoning pillows call out as they frame a pretty face
Wandering thoughts as a dimming light begins the learning

Twisting, I shed the clothes left yearning
Stretching sheets smile as they accept my touch
Embracing blankets warm me with the heat of your body
Taunting shapes shift from two to one under a lover's clutch
Beckoning lips begin to prepare for the reception of your beautiful face
Wandering hands of ours begin their journey of ****** learning
(AIP)
 Aug 2011 Elouise Roux
Annabel
If hate is what's inside us,
then hate is what defines us.

We are ******.
We are taught to love everyone.
even our enemies.
what value does that put on love?

There is a war inside us.
We are the lost.
The sick.
The broken.
 Aug 2011 Elouise Roux
Annabel
I   don't believe.
Have  faith in me.
Come   with me, we'll be on Broadway in a matter of seconds.
To   the moon, dear.
The   state of his mind doesn't please me.
Understanding   life is a ridiculous concept.
That   puts things into perspective, no?
Everyone   dies.
Lives   for the money, dies for the poor.
For you   I'd risk it all.
Pain   shows love.
 Aug 2011 Elouise Roux
Annabel
Boy.
 Aug 2011 Elouise Roux
Annabel
I'm a sucker for nylons
And cherry red lipstick.

She wears them,
and it sends me reeling.

She doesn't know how I love her still.
She smells like the Chanel I gave her.

But she left me out here in the cold,
a million miles from our home.
for the challenge: other side of the coin.
 Aug 2011 Elouise Roux
Vidya
the ****** on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.

there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, *****—
used to describe them.

and too many names—
**** ***** harlot ***** *****—
used to deride them.

you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.

someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.

the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.

the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.

the best ones **** quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.
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