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I wish I could make things,
better.
I wish I -
why is this so.
Hard, I don't understand
why?

What was it about -
her.
Me. You. Said that I -  
I don't even.
Understand what -
I don't even know what,
I am going.
To.

Why did it,
have to be like.
This, I never.
We never -
could we just.
Try and. fix,
things. I don't.
I.
I don't, know.

I don't
know how to.
to, to -  
breathe.
I don't -

breathe.
It's hard to let go of someone
When you loved them it hurts to let them go off on their own
I can't let it go so I fake it
They think I am ok
I am not ok
I didn't let go because I can't
I care too much to do so
I can't let go
I pains me too
But I guess I will now
I see you with them
I will let go
For your sake
 May 2018 eric calabrese
Slur pee
I hold coward’s doubt

Tuck it away, behind my ear

With wisps of hair to hear

Your whispers, clear.

Unlock the coffer of my thought

With skeleton key, fumbling-

*******, the most intimate parts of me.

Bony hands grasp at my invisible flesh

Clawing away, at the nothing that is left.
If I could take
You to a loving
Place it would
Be deep inside my
Warm Heart forever
In my heart sweetheart
I'll never let you out

And softly whisper

The gentel loving words


I love you..........
Heart Loves
I am adept
In the art of being okay
I have mastered the craft
Of covering my troubles
I use all sorts of fancy facades
Acrylic, oil, watercolor
You name it.

I can paint over nearly anything

You will never know
How late I was up last night
Or why.

My eyes flicker
Like candlelight
But you couldn’t see
You couldn’t possibly see
I’m too good
For that.

I can dance, too
Waltzing away my sorrows
Carefully tip toe-ing the
Pas-de-I-am-fine
I get a standing ovation every time

I’m very talented, you see.

But my all time favorite
Is my disappearing act
I’m still perfecting it
Right now
But one of these days
I’ll show you
How I
Slip
Slip
Slip
Away

Right through your fingers.
Chatterton the fabulous creator of other poets’ dreams
An angel of delusion in his world of written confusion
Summer days and lyrically sweet-sounding skylarks
The sunrise and the moonlight of his fading horizon
Writing by the second hand in a hour glass of sand
Amidst the red red roses and the golden daffodils
Quilling songs of hemlock and fading with the flowers
Wearing shoes of silver buckles in John Keats's soles
In his final moments he perished beautifully like a poet.
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