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Battle of the Knife

We thought ourselves as artists,

With paint flowing from our veins

Crimson red carvings on a curious canvas

Attempting to find the sources of our pain

 

We shared scars like secrets on a playground,

Our lips dripping with nicotine

Stories carved into flesh, told without a sound,

Proving that things are not as they seem

 

Oh, I remember each day of that bitter winter

We had lips that bled from our own harsh words

Fixing what’s tucked between our ribs, yanking out the splinters

Wishing to escape by acquiring wings of a bird

 

We stared out into the stars each night

Painting pictures with our fingers in the sky

Shakily climbing out of the darkness into the light

Asking ourselves ‘Do we really want to die?’

 

Though still sometimes faced with the battle of the knife

We have realized that our lungs are for breathing

Our hearts are for beating, our voices for singing

And together we have decided to always choose life

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“I love you, but -”

I’m not going anywhere you said
before you left me.
You say I’m always here and
you are right -
you are always there.
If you need to talk
I’ll listen you say,
and say,
and say.

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Tangled

Tales written in a voice years old
are etched into the pale walls of these rooms
Secrets and lies, every night they unfold
and wither up with summer’s vermillion blooms

Memories wrapped around innocent necks
bind them to concrete beds each morning
Held in their eyes is the treachery of barren treks
and the melancholy of a decade long mourning

Holding to the threads of snow white sheets,
moisture leads the way to a life soaked in light
From the world they can only retreat
and hold their eyes shut with their greatest might

Tomorrow the sun will come out again,
only to reveal not a thing to gain

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Flow...

I feel the flow of my words
Like I'm donating blood;
But never do I know
When enough is enough,
And I drain myself
Down to the white
Sheet of me;
Just within an inch
Of death,
Having placed
An IV drip
From my veins 
Into my pen
And I can't stop;
Writing all the thoughts
That stream 
Through my mind
Twenty four / seven
Coverage
Of the weather
In my heart,
How it rains
How it thunders
How it shines;
How the breeze 
Blows throughout
When you're in my thoughts
And when you're in my dreams
Which is where you always seem to be;
So, that's where I'll be too, with you forever...
APAD13 - 095 © okpoet

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People used to read the TV Guide

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Nebulance

People are vile from who they...'are'
and could I love you more
      ...I would!

I'd grow arms
from the side of these pinata limbs,
even though
they'd be weak from the tequila
                           ...the bliss
...the infinity...the dark
...the nebulance that devours me
           and that I'd make a dress from
              ...for you to wear,
      and feel naked...regardless of,
                                the sway.

I've found reality
burns brighter than dreams
found our past to be the only
...thing, keeping me from a extreme
...wouldn't you agree?

little lamb, little love,
                          little bee...
                                    

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Carousel...

I still do
Find a smile
When you come around,
Not real like physically
Being there next to me,
But the kind of
Coming around 
In my head,
Like there's a carousel
In my skull
And somehow
I'm standing 
There 
In one of my eye sockets
Watching it turn
Sometimes so fast
It's all blurry
But the colors 
And the lights
Amuse me to no end,
But I'm just serious
Observing
And then it slows
Just enough
That I can see you
A different outfit
A different thought
And I laugh...
APAD13 - 056

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Atop this withered hill

that used to be grass and green,

waits the fox

for the prince

to come around

again.

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The End's End

Grey and choking smoke

Of uranium power unleashed

Melted plastic skin

Twirls in fudgy asphalt

 

Wagging tongues 

Of gold and red

Lashing and licking

All consuming

The bones

Of their mortal gods

 

The pungent smell

Burning fat and styrofoam

Indistinguishable

From one another

 

But no one is there to witness

This radioactive filth

He has created

 

No one grieves

Not a single tear 

Nor a sound was heard

In the land of death

They are nothing more

But soft putty 

 

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Post Apocalypse

Did you imagine it like this?

Buildings aren't the only ones

in ruins

People, cut-throat, over things
 wait, how many bells does that ring?

It's Black Friday in the streets

For the supplies that people need

And I'm starting to see

That all our charity and gilded

sacrificing

Is just as synthetic as the Facebook

friendships we cling to with the strength

of LTE

Wait! My signal's dropping out!

As cell towers come down

so do the facades. 

 

Tell me, where is your

Brand Name God

now?