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When i sit here i can only think of my old friends i left behind.
The salty breeze is cold and brutal, i lose time inside my mind.
The memory of you and me dances through my thoughts.
The last time that i saw you and then how we only fought.
The chillng wind that rushes in, wakes me by surprise.
I've thought it through enough, now i'll go home and dry my eyes.
I'm on my street, i see my house, but suddenly its dark.
I look to the sun but what i see is space and distant stars.
I fall in horror but as i do the tears freeze on my eyes.
Whatever swallowed the sun right now is ripping thru the skys.
Where's thuh fog??
My thoughts that form behind my eyes,
could they tell me whats behind the skys?
Do i catch them - and make them mine,
do they smell like light and time.
Do my ideas condense and gain weight,
and where am i bringing this precious freight.
When i die, will my thoughts remain,
become someone else's or fall like rain.
They can't be cut by any knife,
they kick and scream as they fight for life.
My thoughts, my formless, modest store,
i ask this question and create some more.
Espi making for the line,
storming cross-fire so sublime.
Past and future crashed thru time.
This placid art, controlled and fine.
Falling shrieking grabbing crying
kicking screaming beating bleeding.
Calm and still and broad and fast,
this space cannot control the blast.
They'll lock you in before you know,
the safest place that you could go.
A moving statue, a perfect glow,
the arrow primed, the gravity bow.
Its gone! Its gone! Your time is done,
the bullet loudly left the gun.
Your skull was blown, the wall was bloody,
your thoughts were gone, your holy study.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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