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 Feb 2014 Ian Cairns
September
I'm not an artist,
nor am I a murderer—
but I would **** for the day
where you let me trace circles on your skin
and outline your canvas with mine.
sometimes I wish I were a martyr
a  Billy Joel punchline that hit premature
I wish that something would strike me
so that I could feel struck instead of stuck
sometimes I wish I had a cause worth dying for
then I could truly feel alive
I ran far beyond my wildest dreams
Cutting traces from this cruelty
Weighing choices are made from within
Throwing options away indubitably

Is this how we all choose to breathe
Reeling lies in our deadliest sleeps
Digging trenches deep so low beneath
Waiting silently in hope for fate to leap

Is this how we're suppose to breathe
Who are they kidding in the beginning
Applying scientific fictions rotting pleas
Infusing chlorine in their brainwashing scheme

Is this how they have always breathe
Remaking history into a theatrical comedy
Relinquish hopes for a cinematic filth
Draining youth of their liberties

Is this how we should continue to breathe
Or shall we rise above towering castles
Chasing infinity throughout the universe
Owning our rights
To love...
To hope...
To dream...
To *BREATHE
 Feb 2014 Ian Cairns
Àŧùl
Your sonny loves a girl,
Yes, he has made mistakes,
But it is time for a perfection,
Yes, she's his final partner,
Your son will be happy.
My HP Poem #527
©Atul Kaushal
This poem has been removed by author, for limited time.
Written (2012)

Author: It's been three days since I flew back to Canada and away from Utah and my love. So this ended up being inspired by what it felt like when everyday blurs into each other.
There is no shame, in moving back with your parents.

To them you still smell of diapers and the time you puked jelly beans all over the back of the car after you tilt-a-whirled your “I’m a big girl” attitude into giggles.

Around them you still clumsily tip over you own puberty when they ask you to clean your room.

You’re still in college. And that diploma on your wall is still less of an accomplishment, than when you suddenly discovered your thumbs.

So, how do you cope with the baby talk condescension scribbled over directions to empty a dishwasher properly?

1) Realize this is just temporary. You have till you’re at least 40 to fix this.

2) Clean your room of all the embarrassing childish evidence (i.e. N’Synch Posters, Pokemon Cards, Ect) . When CSI comes in they will just assume you were visiting.

3) Take long, long walks far, far away from your residence. Preferably the woods, so you may not run into any high school nemeses.

4) Pray you can get laid by someone, your age. Preferably someone you have not had any prepubescent encounters with already.

5) Eat all the free food you can.

With theses steps you can safely avoid pulling out your own fingernails with the self-loathing hiding under your bed.

Do not let it fill your Pog champion hands with delusions that you have failed to tie your own shoes, let alone pay your own taxes or get married.

Might as well give up those big girl pants and open lid cups and go back to Sesame Street and ******* in your own pants.

This…

Is only temporary.

You must say.

A temporary walk through the woods. Praying to lay down relax, and enjoy the air you are still eating.

This is only temporary.
Written (2013)
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