Like a kiss the eyes open again, and the glassy white is painted with a perfect blood red.
The scarred green, the home in the mirror, and the endless pupil.
And into the void I fall, where black is black, and scared lumps lurk. Where there is a green sun overhead, relentlessly shining and hiding.
Where you could curl in the eye of wonder and feel the sun watch over you.
Like a kiss, the eyes close.
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I give up. I drop it by the side of the road, I leave it to waste. The feeling that I’m at invisible war. Fighting for peace of mind, or even nothing at all, and as I fill ideals, I really don’t care.
I wish to lose or to win, I don’t want to fight. I drop it by the side of the road and I’m on my way. I want to find the old world new, watch what I had fall away.
But I couldn’t leave it. What I hold dear, not for the world.
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I feel the world drone on about me. Like slugs and wasps, a parade of ants. The grey life dulls my senses, and I scream at the slow creep of life. I know beyond the nest must live a field of flowers, nectar and sun, but I must be nothing.
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I feel like a bad cliché, and pants to match. Like the world is looking at me out of the corner of it’s eye. Like I am something I’m not. Like I’m me, and that just won’t do.
I walk the sloppy ground, chin on shoulder, and it doesn’t matter. Like the life I live, and cliché to match.
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I don't need a page filled to the brim, a smiling girl at my arm, a best friend, or a bottle in my hand.
I don't need the sky to fall, the world to spin, my mind to grow. I don't need test scores, lawers, or brains. I don't need pain or happiness I don't need showers icecream or candlelight.
I don't need the world or anything in it. I don't need my ego, death or birth. I don't need ideals, ideas, or anything at all.
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I draw a picture, but not what I want to say. Not what matters or what’s really real. Like reading between the lines, or communication lost in the air.
The picture I drew, with pen black as the void. By process of elimination, from the white, specks of red and blue in the sea of black, watch what I didn’t draw. Watch as nothing takes life, floats above your head, waiting for the air of defeat.
And the black page screams everything, but an air of nothing floats about.
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My latest poetry. I'm almost wanting to pursue writing as a career. What do you guys think?
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