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What will become of us, when I have nothing left to say?

When I'm completely burnt out, and have no feelings left to convey?


Drowning in my sorrows, looking for more words to ramble on because rambling seems to be the only way.
The only way to communicate the longing to save someone from my own nightmare.

I talk to talk, hoping that someone will finally understand my jibberish words of thoughts i've compiled together.

My words have lost their meaning, I'm speaking only to myself,
trying to make sense of the words that come out of my mouth.

I've nothing left inside me...Will you take over the talking?

Longing to hear someone else say the things I've thought- quite the impossible thought if you ask me.

How can I expect someone else to read my mind, then communicate it back to me?
Armed to the teeth, he was every bit a soldier,fighting fit,
Had even an excessive zeal,for conquest bordering to
obsessive compulsive neurosis.he never could relax.
But the moment she was sighted,as an apparition,in his radar,
it was a  near a melt down; how quickly did he transform!
"Yes"  his command center,flashed a message, "See the target"
This was a surprise! contrary to what he thought his nature was
he stands now  stripped naked to the core, ready in true love mode
Love creates chinks even in the thickest of armour
you hear the crash
shattered glass
shards fall like tears
and scatter like ashes
sharp angles glitter
glitter and shine

don't touch
don't help
don't salvage
don't hold


do not touch the glass
you'll smudge the reflection
leave prints
don't leave prints
when you let go they'll be left behind
burning deep into the fibers
like hands holding embers
like scars of war
cuts will leave scars
so

don't touch
don't help
don't salvage
don't hold


the broken glass leaves stains on your hands
on your clothes
on your mind
on your heart
blood pumping
blood pouring out
blood run cold
more than a fracture
jagged edges that will never fit the same

so *don't touch me*.
They don't know how it feels

to awake every morning,
and all they can wonder is
why they had even awoken

They don't know how it feels

to pick up all of their pieces,
and put them back together
but still feel like they're broken

They don't know how it feels

to say all that they can say,
and still feel like there's more
but every word has been spoken

They don't know how it feels

to go to sleep every night,
and the only hope they have
is that their eyes will not open

©
I know you're looking at my photo
the one we took on our first date
and the song I wrote
I know you keep it on repeat
and every time your phone rings
I know you're hoping its me
all the little things you miss and can't forget
and all the good times you reminisce
remember at first it wasn't me who said I needed space
but no matter how much room you have
your heart can't forget the best love you ever had
you asked for this space
He waits in the park for a date.
A bus full of los Angeles Models and photographers
talk through walkie talkies.
He walks around spying through his peripheral.
pretending he's James Bond trying to scope them out.
He wonders if he seems suspicious, or if he's going undetected.

A Beautiful girl passes briskly by, looking curiously around.
She long dark bangs, fall colored scarf, flirty skirt.
She sits on a nearby bench.
He no longer thinking of his date.

"oh my god."
"wait, no."
"what if she showed up right when you started flirting?"
"be respectful."

A vibration in his palm.
"I'm Here"
he looks around
the only woman to fit the profile is perched on the bench.
"no way."
He walks over to the girl.
"you walked right past me, beautiful."
on his face is a smolder
the gas mask used to hide all sorts of jumbled feelings in the past.
Today. it's hiding a tiny jumping boy. feeling like he just won the gorgeous girl lottery.
This is his Date.

They go to Dobra Tea,
She takes a sip.
"It tastes like peaches" she says.
"Peaches come, in a can." The boy starts.
"they were put their by a man" she adds.
they screamingly harmonize a bit too loudly for a tea shop
"In a factory downtown"
they shush each other.
giggles erupt out of them as they collapse into the tiny pillows.
they get quiet.

the girl explains she puts her "bad pictures" on tinder
so people are surprised to realize she's beautiful in person.
stricken by her brilliance.
He applauds the flawless strategy.
as it clearly worked on him.

They go on a few more dates.

First She takes him to a graveyard.
They talk about their Jiminy Cricket's
Shared demons, so familiar some
creep from behind gravestones.
push leaves from their path as they stroll along.

Then He bring her to lighthouse.
A thick cold fog.
they switch between belting 90's pop hits
and laying peacefully up at the sky holding hands.
Music.
sound of bleeding hearts rubbing against each other.
bow and violin.
how soon they flint and steel.
spark too hot, too real, too soon.

later, in bed.
His heart leaks something.
He wonders if he looks suspicious, or if he's going undetected.
when she pushes "did you just say you love me?
Tired, and teary eyed, He says:
"Peaches."
It was their safe word.

As she starts in, Clearly not satisfied,
"C'mon, I know I hear-" she interrupts herself.
"oh... you said peaches."

See, he could have said yes,
It would have been more honest.
but this was only their third morning waking up together.
even though his heart wanted to say it again.
his Jiminy Cricket doesn't care if he loves her.
it knows he can't take care of her.
Jiminy knows that when he goes home tomorrow, she's a poem.

So He says peaches.
There must always be a title,

“Title your paper…”,
“Find a title for your story”,
“Don’t forget to think of a title”,
“(Insert Title Here)”,
There must always be a title for your work.

“She’s taken”,
“I’m single”,
“We’re dating”,
“They’re talking”
There must always be a title for your relationship.

“Straight”
“Gay”
“Lesbian”
“Bisexual”
There must always be a title for your ****** preference.

“Dumb”
“Smart”
“Pretty”
“Ugly”
There must always be a title for your appearance.

“Popular”
“Loser”
“Goth”
“****”
There must always be a title for your group.

“Enemies”,
“Allies”,
“Friends”,
“Companions”,
There must always be a title for your associations.

Must there always be a title?
 Nov 2015 Jaxton Tyler Redmond
dj
the title is meant to be ironic
enough to draw the attention
of the easily offended and
dramatic internet users
who happen to cross this
poem.

it's ironic because 'Gay' & 'Bible'
usually come in contention;
words unfit to modify the other
a neon g-string preist is odd
but it ain't necessarily
so
.

I explained this.

A sign of the times,
It's my crisis
I'll exist if I want to.
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