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The world is a joke and I am the punchline.
Let the rhythm fill your senses and waltz in time like a pantomime.
Puppets have no need of string and most will even dance and sing!
For who believes such
SILLY things
as string, yes string,
that controls the theme.
But in the darkness, they feel the sting...
Still shadows dance along the walls and men with guns will roam the halls in search of what their told to hunt but never questioning.
never questioning...
as freedom falls...

The rebels screaming in the street believe the paths beneath their feet, so I'll turn and walk away from those behind a self made cage and let my lonesome comedic soul fill with slight romantic rage.
 Feb 2014 Patricia Tsouros
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I am not making progress and
Maybe I never will.

I knew giving my all to a boy
With such destructive tendencies
Was my biggest failure, but
Who could deny your hands or
The way you whispered
"I want you"?

Your ocean eyes and sand-colored hair
Sould have warned me because the
First time we touched was a day after
The beach, and I remember every
Person in your house on that given day
And I swear there are ghosts in
My walls that sound just like your bed.

I wonder now why the ghosts I hide
Under piles of our clothes (the same clothes
That have seen your bedroom floor)
Have taken on the form of you.

I need you because you are familiar
And because of that I will always
Feel alone in a crowded room regardless
Of the faces that plague my life daily.

Kiss me until the bitterness of fear
Leaves my veins and the oxygen in
My lungs is no longer his.

The only thing left to give up on me
Is my own bones, but I feel the rust
Through the marrow and
I am out of time.

How much time did we have?
How many bars of soap must
One person go through to remove
The feel of another from their skin?

I can confirm that if he is anything like you
I will not be able to keep breathing and
That is not a metaphor for how
You took my breath away.

Stop wasting your time on me,
I am nothing but broken bones
And broken hearts, stiched incorrectly
As so and I do not have enough glue to
Fix what is left in shambles.

The last time we spoke you asked me
Why I told you I still loved you and no
Longer wanted go be with you,
But that still stands and
I'll love you til the day I die.
every time i hear your voice
i just think of how
it would sound
breaking out of pleasure,
gasping,
your mouth open in
surprise to the
silk of my touch,
how it would sound sighing my
name out
tickling the hair that
falls lightly around my neck.

i want your honey
voice
dripping from your
quickfire tongue
soaking me
so i am sweet and stung
fresh from the hive
i want you to make me

scream
Scarves. high collars,
or extra mascara
hide the brownish-purple
disfigurement wrapped
around her throat.

Part of her being
is scarred with
remnant traces
inflicted from traumatic
scenes endured
during his rage.  

Horrific echoes
careen around her brain
like video clips replaying
the self-hatred he
spilled upon her.

His crazed lashes
struck her
bone deep.  
Musty smells
from those moments
linger among her nostril mucus.

She carries on
distracted with moments
near tranquil music
or beside still brooks
and squawking crows.

Each day she captures
views of sunrise
and sunset while chanting
mantras to unknown gods
striving to complete
her forgiveness.
What Dreams Are For

You do not need to run from life
Or hide the real you
Help the world understand
Change their point of view

Always run towards the truth
Follow your hearts desire
Be bold and brave, dont back down
Keep fueling your passions fire

Become that special something new
Make a mark for all to see
Show them there's a fire inside
That sets your passions free

Why just run when you can fly
Spread your wings and soar
Reach for that highest star above
Thats what dreams are for


Carl Joseph Roberts
Written in collaboration with new poet Mary Short. Great working with you mary and i look forward to writing more with you and reading your poems. Im very glad you decided to post on this site and im sure many others will love your work.
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