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Old 06-04-2014, 12:20 AM View Post #521 (Link)
owl (Offline)
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Location: Charlottesville, VA
Posts: 234
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COMPARISON

Shells on the beach look like shells
on the beach. But don’t worry: I’m thinking of a
different beach, subjected to foreign swells
of tourists. Instead of the cold spray
of northern June, I felt your breath
across my face. Life was as blue as a post
card and felt as short; crib death
lay with us in bed. Our bodies were its host.
O, you were so perfect, like a vase
I hardly wanted to touch you, while I
frayed with every kiss. Like an old faded
novel, I became illegible. At night gull-blue sky
wheeled away from us, and so did time.
Sand and I erode, but not you: you’re fine.
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Old 06-05-2014, 10:29 PM View Post #522 (Link) Lana Del Rey
Derezzination (Offline)
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Location: Bath
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‘teenage, teenage,
jaded by fame,
roll a quick joint
and lets go up in a blaze’

quickly no quickly
come to me red,
come to me pink
no, come to me red.

mirror mirror
go to you now,
go to you quickly
no, go to you now.

teenage teenage
created by name,
roll a quick life
and go up in a fame.






and at the end of it all,
Lana Del Rey is in my bathroom smoking cigarettes
into the mirror
and I am far away,
and I have gone away.
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						Last edited by Derezzination; 06-05-2014 at 10:32 PM.
					
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Old 06-06-2014, 06:58 PM View Post #523 (Link)
Sethspage (Offline)
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Join Date: Jun 2014
Posts: 2
Points: 5
Times Thanked: 0
The water dripped,
unaware that the faucet refused it to pass.
It hadn't been told to let the water through yet,
It hadn't been told in years.
Sometimes when it got cold the faucet complained,
that the water would not listen.
But there was no-one to hear it,
or the water's end against the floor.
It hadn't been told in years,
and the condemned sign said;
It wouldn't
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Old 06-07-2014, 09:37 PM View Post #524 (Link)
lostbookworm (Offline)
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Location: Among the Fires of Hell
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darkness is where i come from,
and i shall return.

silence shall greet me, and
i will greet it likewise.

there will be no flowers
or celebrations.

-

i shall arrive with a suitcase
packed with poems.

alone, tired and dreary, much
like i lived my life.

yet i shall be home, and it
shall be beautiful.
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and he saw himself nailed to the cross of his own cradle and coffin
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Old 08-22-2014, 04:26 AM View Post #525 (Link)
sbenzing (Offline)
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Location: New Hampshire
Posts: 315
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This town festers with crows perched on the grid,
walking on wires, heads cocked, slicing back and forth
through the air as if trying to snatch a sound out of the
early autumn breeze.

This town burns red as the jagged edge of a wound, moist
and squelching, clammy white edges flapping in the wind.
The smell of rancid flesh floods the streets, memories bruising
around the wound, puss oozing out with every burning touch.

This town is sickly for the gipsy soul, familiar faces running like
dead dog meat puss and memories perched over your head, just
out of sight.
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Old 08-26-2014, 08:34 PM View Post #526 (Link)
sbenzing (Offline)
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Location: New Hampshire
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My street is nestled between a fork in the road and an old forgotten
cemetery on the other side of the road. My street is lodged between
a baseball field and a fire station, also on the other side of the road.
Sometimes I'll look out my picture window, craning my neck to look
down the street, listening to rain on the roof, splat splat splattering
on the soft shingles and ping ping pinging off the gutters.

A sharp breeze will loft itself through the screen, caressing my face,
drawing out all the soft pink pigment and leaving prickly goosebumps.
Then whack it slaps me across the face, stinging of rain and dragging
the smell of moist grass, trampled dirt, and wandering dandelions
straight up my nose.

I look out my window and see the sky floating to the ground, like a giant
sheet being thrown over a bed, the corners and edges tucked under the mattress.

Sometimes I drive by the cemetery and fire station, hearing the whish whish of my
tires on the wet pavement, and I wonder if there is a lonelier place in the world,
alone in a thunderstorm, lost at sea with feet planted firmly on the ground.
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"The definition of an asshole is a guy who doesn't believe what he's seeing. And you can quote me." - Stephen King

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Old 08-28-2014, 06:55 PM View Post #527 (Link)
sbenzing (Offline)
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Location: New Hampshire
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I cling to summer like a child clinging to his favorite sweater.
"Its time to throw it away. It's too small. It doesn't fit anymore"
Or like that orange shirt with the tiger on the front, sticking fingers
through holes in the seams. In the neck and the armpit and the sleeves.

I can still see that polished wood floor, glistening as the sun pours
like water through the picture windows, dust motes dancing in the air up
on stage. The floor shakes and the windows rattle, clack clack clack buugghhhh
as the train rushes past. We rush to the back door and stare in wonder at our muse,
our distraction from work, breathing life into words and sentences, melting faces back
to life, pretending to be in love.

Sometimes, when I'm drifting off to sleep, I can hear that train off in the distance, a couple
towns over, a soft whistle, a snoring on the edge of my consciousness.

Summer will never be the same. No more bike rides along the railroad tracks, sitting in Wendy's
sipping on lemonade, nights at the drive in with a bag of Twizzlers and a bottle of cherry Pepsi.

Every now and then I'll drive by a group of boys on their bikes,
or I'll drive by the old baseball field,
and I know that somewhere out there,
someone is enjoying their summer the way I used to.

"Its time to throw it away. It's too small. It doesn't fit anymore"

I cling to my summer like a child's favorite sweater,
or maybe like that old orange shirt with the tiger on the front.
Maybe there's a kid out there who would love a shirt like that
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"The definition of an asshole is a guy who doesn't believe what he's seeing. And you can quote me." - Stephen King

If you wish me to critique your poetry or prose just PM/VM me.
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Old 10-06-2014, 07:49 PM View Post #528 (Link) Marketing Campaign for Google Nexus X
Derezzination (Offline)
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Location: Bath
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Blue is an unhappy hue,
Blue is an unhappy you.

Be more Green,
be more you,
be Android.
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Old 10-16-2014, 02:47 PM View Post #529 (Link)
Squint (Offline)
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Location: in a panda-stuffed closet
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Points: 24
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i.

of all the sciences i've studied, biology makes the crudest comparison to love

i could strip you down to skin
and bare bones with a scalpel -
slick silver - and slit the scars on your side

you could take my hand and
break every single finger backward
for the sake of rearranging my palm
to fit yours perfectly

and you remind me
biology is the study of life
so let me start again

biology and love - a crude comparison
i could strip you down to skin
.
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Most of my poetry is smut these days.
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Old 11-08-2014, 12:51 AM View Post #530 (Link)
Jack (Offline)
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i am in hate with him
the clip of his heavy rain laughter
like mice on tarpaulin
his off-white outcrop forehead, vaguely incestuous
his sluggish smile at second-rate oxbridge innuendos.
and he gets to hold you drench you like the sun in his gorilla arms
gets to breath in to your sahara skin.
you never loved a man in tweed
a man with scarab shell hair dominating the corners of pubs
trend y like a poet uncle.
this is not you
you are pretty boys
coffee shops at dawn
new york jawlines and pale skies
he doesn’t even take his tea like you do
you are jumper-too-big-for-them boys
why do you follow him like a dickens orphan?
when you tin-can drag through the roman streets
you are like a living toothpick
but i remember you in the rain. i remember you like crying marble
meeting for pizza by that thundering railroad
pressing our faces on the walls
fluttering about the university like acid pumped hummingbirds.
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