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What you do to me
A chemical catastrophe
Surge of Serotonin
I take you like a vitamin
Like candies from Halloween
You fill me up
Sugar high
Now I feel I can fly
Sweet sweet sigh
What a pleasure
To stay by your sideĀ 
A privilege
If now I'll die
For I know from now on
You're mine



-Sugar-coated Sigh, Margaret Austin Go
 Nov 2014 Rosy Kay
Rupal
Silence
 Nov 2014 Rosy Kay
Rupal
Silence is not keeping quiet
because you have nothing
to say...

Silence is having a lot
to say but no desire
to speak...
 Nov 2014 Rosy Kay
Liz And Lilacs
You asked me why I let myself hurt.
Because I don't know how to fix it.
and maybe, maybe, I like it
Just a little, in some little way,
I like the pain.
Hm
Sometimes I feel,
I have it all planned out,
Then it's as if my hairs falling out.

Sometimes it's like,
Everything's right,
Then my chest gets way too tight.

Sometimes I know,
Exactly what I feel,
Then I feel like I'm in a hamster's wheel.

Sometimes I get,
Which way I should go,
But then I panic.
I, just, don't, know,
Here comes November rain,
He lingers on the window pane.

Locked outside without a key,
Please keep him away from me.

I've changed the lock,
His face reflects in the clock.

It chimes but he still remains outside,
His persistence won't make me abide.

November rain,
Knocking on the door frame.

Desperate to get in,
I can't withstand him.
Snags in her tights,
Chipped black on her claws,
She stands against walls,
Vulnerable to the brawls.

A skirt grazing her thighs,
Too small for her liking,
She pulls at the seems,
And feeds the old men lies.

Lips that bleed,
Mascara stained cheek,
Frame too slim,
She's in the gutter, sensual and meek.

Lady of the night,
Rolls to your car,
beckons you with her finger,
hopes you won't linger.

A ten note slips,
Into her grip.
She squeezes.
It will feed her addiction.

She has money to pay,
Children to feed,
She digs her knuckles so much they bleed.

Life carries by,
As she tries to get high,
On the fumes of other men.

But the red light comes on,
Her skirt hitches up,
She cries as he whispers
good girl.

As he kisses her neck,
She thinks what the heck
Am I doing with my **** awful life,
Selling cheap love,
To father above,
In hope she gets a better price
than the tiny sum
From every business bloke that comes, beckons her into his arms.

She pulls at her pleather,
At her last tether,
Why am I in this life?

Soho's her home,
But it leaves her numb to the bone.

She has more than budget passion,
She craves style,
She fashion.

But instead the needle pierces,
And she sinks down,
Hating the body she's in,
Women walk and they frown,
But they don't understand how the girl feels deep down,
She just wants true love.

Oh heaven above?
If there is a Holy Spirit,
Let me be it,
For this withered young *******,
Belongs in your constitute,
Please, she begs, save me from the charity brutes.
Books are reliable folk,
They'll remain in your hand as you have a ****.

The pages don't mind markings,
The bindings are okay with carvings,

The letters will always remain,
Even if, your holy grail is left out in the rain.

Their secret meaning can be read
in the solitary of your head.

Or your favourite piece, shout aloud!
Yell it to a crowd.

Weep as your character's love departs,
Flick through it with a careless heart.

Keep it in your back pack,
Or glare at it on your iPad.

Your trusty friend 'book'
Is always willing for you to prise it open,
and take a long, hard look.
Do the heavens hear their cries?
How can they let these children slowly die?
I pray now spare them from agony
Sew their wings and set them free
For they are not slaves of poverty
But of souls unworthy of their sanity

A song for you my child
It is not your fault
You are not born to cry
A child is a child
Even if he sleeps in a bed of sweets
or in the busy streets
In your eyes pure innocence and love
In your hopes and dreams
you must fly like a dove
High as the angels above

Never will the sirens wake you
Never will the stones hurt you
Never will the cold bite you
For tonight you will not wake in fright
Rest in peace my child
The moon will swallow your woes
The stars will weave your dreams
And they will make you warm as you sleep



-Forgotten Angels, Margaret Austin Go
I dedicate this poem to all the homeless children. The abandoned and forgotten. The aborted children and the slaves of childtrafficking. Those children at war zones and children deprived of being a child. A blanket of love for all of you.
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