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BloodThick black blood
pumps through these veins
all of my feelings begin to flood
I break myself free of these chains
There is no word
to describe how I feel
about those things I overheard
My heart is not made of steel
I’m afraid of the words that may come
out of my chest
or maybe the numb
that comes when I’m feeling pressed
I don’t know why
I feel like this so much
Lie after lie
as I escape from your touch
BlissUnder the cloudless sky, the pain goes away
How could one be somber on such a brilliant day?
Days like this are hard to come by
So how could anything go awry?
Seemingly always sobbing
We hate you too much
Only because you are soaking to the touch
How you wish that you weren't undying
You live in this endless chain
No wonder you cry with this pain
Into the ground you come crashing
You choose to do this all in vane
Beautiful, Terrible, Rain.
ShadowsIn the stillness of the night,
Our demons come out to play
Taunting and tormenting
Until our beings turn into nothing
Begging for mercy
I wonderi try
who i am not
if i am worth it
if i should be here
The Willow TreeThere was an old willow tree;
We used to sit there, you and me
In the middle of our field
It's been years since my heart has healed
But the memories still remain.
We would sit underneath that tree;
And talk about all those things we would see
All of those things we planned to do
Oh its so hard to forget about you
The memories don't go away
It was a few weeks since we saw the tree;
We both became too busy
The dreams began to fade
I wish that you had stayed
The memories keep coming back
Today I look at the stump of our tree;
And wonder why you left me
I look at your name in stone
And feel the cold seep into my bones
The memories bring tears to my eyes
How I miss our willow tree
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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