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The growing need to wake up & create
Her stockings laid gently over the ornate partition Sacred vulnerabilities shared Poetic affirmations after discarding the bland tropes All sins must return to the sea
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Unplugging from the mainframe
Remaining forever off the grid Don’t need their connections Don’t know if we ever truly did
The final tragic hero of a modern culture
The soul survivor of a discarded revolution Histories & experience outside the norm Dreams of freedom with divine attribution
Dealing with the conceits of perfection
The concepts of loneliness & betrayal This world isn’t what we were promised Token hints lost behind a fractured veil
The answers are hidden beyond this life
It may look bleak, but don’t you fret We have the Source of Light & they’re still riding that ol’ dialup internet
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Drinking black coffee out of Delta cups
The cheap seats listening to Empire Burlesque Mixed metaphors crawling in the night Still pondering why a raven is like a writing desk
Dislodged tea parties & cries of Nevermore
The world swiftly swirling all around me Reducing myself into my words Hiding now within punctuation & necessity
Unsure of our place in time
Triangulations are stretch marks on the soul Society wants me to be all shiny But more often than not, I’m tired & dull
Where do we find our inspirations
The formulations upon our existence Personalities discarded to the rubbish pile Pushing us further away within time & distance Like this: Like Loading...
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Discounting the overland wages
Discarded notions of an empty word
Dripping coffee on innocently blank pages
Drudging toward all the invocations misheard Like this: Like Loading...
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My fetish is powerful women
Standing proud in front of a crowd Holding court with authenticity Firmly entrenched without having to get loud
Mesmerized by the way she carries herself
Controlling me with a compassionate glance She’s my incandescent muse My reason for believing in happenstance
She’s regal without being out of touch
Properly expressing how it feels to be real But I know she’s never going to give in No matter our depravities, she will never kneel
Containing the ability to remain soft & lovely
While always making me hard She can be inconvenient to worship Not a plot point, won’t let you simply discard
Who am I to say no?
When she asks me to open up for the Queen I’m the victim of my own volition But I love it all, if you know what I mean Like this: Like Loading...
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Quiet practice of language
Where saints lay desecrated
Discarded words & their meanings
Grizzled by dreams we’ve created
Continuing on is our only option
In spite of our demon’s desires
Internal resolve beats steadily
Rising once more; trial by fire Like this: Like Loading...
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Hiding discarded notes in a shoebox
A back-catalog of creativity to mend Offering our souls to be consumed & an apology if we might offend Like this: Like Loading...
My desk lies cluttered with discarded notes
Scattered among my life’s rejected missives Scorched earth beneath my words Burnt before anyone can become dismissive Like this: Like Loading...