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burn with me.

let me share this fire with you,

come taste the ash

that surrounds me like smoke.

flames licking fingertips,

just touch it.

it won’t hurt you.

just let it burn for awhile.

let the light consume the darkness in you.

you just don’t know,

just how much this will cleanse your soul.

come.

burn with me.

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tiny

You make me feel small.
Tiny.
Ant like.
Like the ant who couldn’t do anything right.
You have no idea,
just how much you take
and take and take.
All I wanted was you.
And you couldn’t give me that.
You make me feel just like he did
The person I am too insignicant,
but my chaos too significant.
Just go ahead and suffocate me.
You won’t even notice.

 

 

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wander.

Wanderlust, oh sweet soul
wanting for mountains and rivers
wanting for castles and brick streets
lusting after strange beaches.

Wanderer, be patient with yourself
be peaceful in your travels
be well
be adventurous – the world awaits;
time stops for no one.

Wanderlust, oh sweet soul
love the waters that grant you passage
experience the earth as it comes
taste it, savor it, remember it always.
Wanderer, oh sweet soul
filled with a wanderlust.

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Stairway of the Macabre

soul. speak.

Quick, let’s build a wall.
Make it a hundred feet high;
better yet, make it two.
Take away their shovels
and ladders and ropes
and while we’re at it,
take what’s left of their
dignity and humanity.
Maybe we can tax the
ever lovin’ shit out of them
while were at it.
Just savages, don’t you know
that’s what they are?
If you put a door,
you better bar it.
Don’t let them out.
Don’t let them in.
They might taint our
hypocrisy with truth.
Guard it with your life,
sacrifice yours so that
they can’t have a better one.
Cover your legalities with
words like boundaries,
so it’ll be easier to ignore
the screams when the cartel comes.
We took away their shovels,
but maybe they can pile the bodies
like a stairway of the macabre.
maybe if enough people die.

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July 19, 2015

Step, step away from the bus and
don’t ever look back. They aren’t
coming for you. Ever.
Even if they did, no one
would ever want someone
like you. No one wants you.
No one wants you.
No one wants you.
So you find yourself on
some God-forsaken beach with
a bottle of bloody-fucking vodka
and you wonder how the fuck
you got so messed up.
Then you drink and drink
until the haze of yesterday
wears away and then you stumble
back to your apartment
on Fifth Avenue and
pretend nothing ever happened.
Nothing ever happened.
Nothing ever happened.