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 Oct 2014 Patrick N
Chloë Fuller
I threw up in the rose bush

hot yellow and thick

nothing has been on my stomach in weeks

yet over-exaggerated thoughts

nagging doubt

justified distrust

is upsetting me

I threw up in the rose bush

I hope they survive better than I can
 Oct 2014 Patrick N
F White
The Lows
 Oct 2014 Patrick N
F White
where on this bridge do
I rest?

poised over the water, rocks
reflecting their game up over
the rivulets

bubbles are cheap-
that's what she's said.

I hold your fingers between mine
carefully pinched, like a tattered butterfly wing

now the powder of my choice clings
I blow on it softly, unsure
asking it to disperse in the wind

where are your eyes?

what is this heart?


Who is my song?
copyright FHW 2014
 Oct 2014 Patrick N
Lisa
Perfection
 Oct 2014 Patrick N
Lisa
She put on her lipstick,
combed her long blonde hair
and looked in the mirror,
from a look evolved a stare,
searching for something amiss
an eyelash, a hair.
Anything out of place
that ugliness could declare,
and what looked back,
was all her tear stained blue eyes could see
Extinct perfection,
a precious face drenched in misery.

— The End —