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Tight rope walkerGigglesnort
Distractions are everywhere these days!
Whilst performing a clumsy tightrope walk
My mind, juggling the facts of meiosis
And genetics, becomes cluttered
With flashing pictures,
Mediocre entertainment and
Countless tales of why I am in actual fact an arsehole.
The rope wobbles and I stumble,
I don't fall though.
The screaming of my "fans" positions me
Once again. I pivot,
Ball of feet.
Resume the act
And it all comes back
My crowd silence,
At least, for the most part.
A shushing whisper
Dances round my feet,
tickles my toes.
I loose balance again.
I stop, a hush.
I start, a rush!
I turn from the noise
Of my thoughts,
To the noise of
Twitting and twatting like how they do
And soon the bush-fire spreads.
Whoa!! Falling now!
Who said what??
I land in a graceful heap
Of tangled limbs
And as I stand to take my bow,
All the revision hits me.
OK, so now I'm out cold,
On the floor, that's cold,
Getting glares from around; they're also cold,
I wish I was asleep.
To dream amidst the ranks
Of the Black Parade; to belong.
Here I stand, No.
Here We stand,
Speechless in this silent realm
Of sacred unity.
The silence bathes us.
My mountain of support, my friends,
All together in this world of hope.
We walk our paths, those lines the pen draws so
Dismal, until you bend it to your will.
Learn the secret, I did.
The pen stutters and mine is a curvy line;
Meandering between the beautiful silence,
The Black Parade, and my resting place.
A stone's throwAlways a stone's throw away,
Mighty tides couldn't defer our embraces.
That's how it was, was to me?
And now what lies left?
Hollow heart weeps wearily
To the tragic blue moon.
Arc of bow in silver spirit
To condemn the tears to memory,
Freezing the moment in the wind.
The reunion of being may never occur,
But I'll lay waiting.
Ripples of white adorn my feet,
Mingling with cool sands, lapping waves
And a longing for you on that horizon.
Now, you have no time for me,
To rise and fall as one with me
In our cerulean sky.
I still wait and bottle the stars,
Capture their shine in my little glass.
They remind me, (lie to me?) I'm not alone.
Tell me, when I look up into night
Do you look too to see the dawn?
Shackle of lines will pull me now,
To the depths of our old words, my world.
The crypts of melody that we harmonised
Shall sing to nought but dusty webs.
The sand now smothers me too
Perhaps it is for the best.
I can handle thisSmouldering black.
Watch it smother the glare.
A blank page to churn recollections upon,
And mould them with my finger tips.
Stabbing at the cold plastic
Incessant rattling away and a
Whittling away perseverance
I will succeed
Gallops of fleeting hoof shall tap along
the cold concrete
A suspect never found, just an escape.
Laces of wire will keep the free,
Another bottle on the floor.
The drink oozing down her throat.
The cist bursts, frothing puss drowns.
Bloodshot eyes glaze over and
the glass shatters in course palm.
You've done it again, haven't you?
Leave, if you can. You can crawl back later,
Eternity is cyclic.
Lo and behold.
I was right.
It's always the same.
It's always this way.
It's always this same.
Spitting silence splinters,
But of course, I don't know this.
It's always this way.
Sitting here, I'm shaking.
Sitting here, I'm small.
So what foul tool shall I use to distract mys
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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