sympathyssymphony.blogspot.com
Sorrow's Native Daughter: Self Addressed Envelope.
http://sympathyssymphony.blogspot.com/2015/03/self-addressed-envelope.html
A journey into the depths of my subconscious, brought to the fore of consciousness. babble? Probably, that is why we have dreams and nightmares. "From my heart a single tear hangs low." (The Raven). Because you loved me. Snapping her hand writing wrongs. When said and done. Because you loved me. She is still poetry. Twelve years to spill spit and. A letter to one's self. 169; 2014 Aug 18th - Michaela James. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). I am Sympathy's Symphony™. View my complete profile.
crimson007.blogspot.com
All the words she never spoke: Always, All-ways
http://crimson007.blogspot.com/2008/04/always-all-ways.html
All the words she never spoke. The ecstasy is so short but the forgetting is so long. Wednesday, April 2, 2008. I will let you roll off my back. Like so many soiled dreams. I do not need anything you offer. Whether liquid-filled paper cups. Or 15 second sound bytes. I refuse to feed the hunger. Phantom pains and lies. Emptiness is less palatible. But much easier to swallow. Than saccharine half truths. Told under a paper moon. I will give up this hunger,. Without sacrificing thoughts of you.
crimson007.blogspot.com
All the words she never spoke: Trying something different
http://crimson007.blogspot.com/2007/02/trying-something-different.html
All the words she never spoke. The ecstasy is so short but the forgetting is so long. Saturday, February 24, 2007. I LOVE the idea of letters. maybe I'll steal, uh, I mean borrow it for my own blog. March 1, 2007 at 12:07 AM. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Blogroll some of the blogs I enjoy reading. Word Thugs Literary Rag. Chris Pimental train wreck chronicles. Sometimes its best to be concise. Fuck you. I thi. I have f a l l e n i n t o passion . The Wind in Me. Words unspoken.part one.
crimson007.blogspot.com
All the words she never spoke
http://crimson007.blogspot.com/2007/03/black-is-night-cold-is-day-heart-of.html
All the words she never spoke. The ecstasy is so short but the forgetting is so long. Saturday, March 3, 2007. Black is the night. Cold is the day. No hope in sight. Not here nor there. Ancient voices call her name. Long walk of shame. Walk away from the light. Never as bright as that star in the sky. Painfully give up the fight. It's a gray day and a black night. Nothing left to invest. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Blogroll some of the blogs I enjoy reading. Word Thugs Literary Rag.
crimson007.blogspot.com
All the words she never spoke: words unspoken..part one
http://crimson007.blogspot.com/2007/02/words-unspokenpart-one.html
All the words she never spoke. The ecstasy is so short but the forgetting is so long. Thursday, February 15, 2007. Words unspoken.part one. You have no idea of the thoughts hidden away in my brain. Thoughts so ripe with possibility that I have dared to vocalize them,. In twilight hours when silence amplifies them. Thoughts which are incomplete. Bursting with uncertainty,. If I told you would you hear me? There is no room in your life. For a girl of averages. And no room in mine for silly daydreams.
debra-dustingcobwebbed.blogspot.com
Cobwebs & Pink Converse...: my version
http://debra-dustingcobwebbed.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-version.html
Cobwebs and Pink Converse. Wednesday, February 7, 2007. Now that you’re gone. I will fold my withered eyes. Into tiny tear-soaked souvenirs,. Then I’ll place them in a package. And mail them to you. So that maybe some lonely day. When you think of me. If you think of me. You could take them out. Up to the light. You’d finally see. Drake Lightle (aka Deleted User; Charles Bukkake). What a grand love affair of the mind must have inspired these words. February 8, 2007 at 10:16 PM. April 7, 2007 at 6:39 PM.
debra-dustingcobwebbed.blogspot.com
Cobwebs & Pink Converse...: February 2007
http://debra-dustingcobwebbed.blogspot.com/2007_02_01_archive.html
Cobwebs and Pink Converse. Wednesday, February 7, 2007. Now that you’re gone. I will fold my withered eyes. Into tiny tear-soaked souvenirs,. Then I’ll place them in a package. And mail them to you. So that maybe some lonely day. When you think of me. If you think of me. You could take them out. Up to the light. You’d finally see. Links to this post. S uddenly its just me. O f course i understand. L ife is funny that way. I blinked my eyes and you moved on. T ime for me to move on. U nlock the cage.
wordthugs.blogspot.com
Word Thugs Literary Rag: Jan 30, 2007
http://wordthugs.blogspot.com/2007_01_30_archive.html
Word Thugs Literary Rag. Leave your ego at the door, bitch. Tuesday, January 30, 2007. WORD THUG - FEATURED WRITER - DEBRA MARLAR - Click Here for more work by Debra. And she frolicked in angelic beer shit. The reason he'd stayed drunk. For ten years and wrote poetry. Was so good at it. Were so bad at it. Then he went on to talk about beer shit. My point is,. Who but the most shallow among us. Gets wet when reading meaningless poetic prattle? Or pretty flowing adjectives. Floating them off to places.
wordthugs.blogspot.com
Word Thugs Literary Rag: Jan 29, 2007
http://wordthugs.blogspot.com/2007_01_29_archive.html
Word Thugs Literary Rag. Leave your ego at the door, bitch. Monday, January 29, 2007. A Rosie Red Valentine. OK Not a good poem, but definitely a thugging. Screw you, Rosie. Won't you be mine? Your soft voice like petals. My candy in bed. But they tell me. That my Valentine dreams. Are ill fated visions. Your tact and your wit,. Of which I'm not one. So my moves and my game. Sure to be whacked. We're two different Train Wrecks. Lame as poem by Train Wreck Pimental. The Train Wreck rolls, on and on.
wordthugs.blogspot.com
Word Thugs Literary Rag: Jan 31, 2007
http://wordthugs.blogspot.com/2007_01_31_archive.html
Word Thugs Literary Rag. Leave your ego at the door, bitch. Wednesday, January 31, 2007. WORD THUG FEATURED WRITER - J.R. MASTON (Click for more by J.R.). I have laid out funeral robes. I intend to wear for my burial,. When they come to wrap me. In all things I have done. After whipping me raw. With all things I cannot change. 8230; this is my day …. The moment when I will make. They will tell my fables. And housewives will remember to repeat them by rote. My death will form two millennia. Time has come ...
