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It's just a ringtone.

I really couldn’t help myself. My fingers were thinking as the passage of red lights flew by me, energy circulated around me, I awaited a family message, in the midst of a lot of not caring. It’s hard to say what I was thinking, or what my mind was up to tonight… I was looking forward to a hotel bed and shower, a good talk with the family, and a long time sleeping. It was hard to say what was going on, but in a world where honesty is applauded, how is it that you fear in saying the truth?

Ha, I smiled. I knew enough, I said to myself.

Let me tell you a story, filled with creativity and beauty, with madness and disguise, with a sweet goodbye and a timely hello. 35 was the number, or perhaps it was 92, the answer, is really up to you. Pour the vodka onto an empty canvas, and sprinkle it with lemon. If I’m feeling crazy, I’ll throw in some black beans, and make it a dish. I’m sure I’ve lost you by now, but what’s the point in reading words that make sense anyways? But maybe, just maybe, you read that, and got what I meant. Got what I meant when a serialized message didn’t make it all the way through, when a blank page fills with color, and yet no image is to be found. There’s a beauty in similarity which feeds me happiness day by day, but a truth which feeds me reality, as I try to paint a watermark with oil. A drop falls onto a key, the letter ‘A’ it seems, the canvas keeps dripping, as I watch the stain bring life to a board that has never had its buttons pressed, to a board that saw the bottom of the world and kept going, because 36 in 28 was more of a goal than an impossibility.

Let me forget. I don’t do that thing which others crave. I don’t sorrow or break down, even as we jump off 13,000 and scream because death is so near, and living suddenly feels even fucking better. The rush of adrenaline speeds through your system, a tiny bit to the left you say, and then it’s perfect. Your moment of helplessness is accompanied with perfection, for a split second, you let yourself live, and then crawled right back in, and hid in that same shell that sought for the heroin that made your system shine. Yeah sure you had your moments of glory, the rushing heartbeat and scandalous memories, one phrase that isn’t stop does just that, but who knows what it might be, as ‘peanut butter’ echoes down the complex.

And so gently, they carry on. They take a stroll and watch the sun rise, I smile and can’t believe my eyes, he says he’s sorry, she remembers the colorful pages that had long ago been stained by that one night, and then her memories darken, as the knows, forgetting is simply not an option. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, and perhaps it never will be, its hopeless she told herself, but somehow, he knew, it really wasn’t.

qk

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Learning to float

First my apologies.
Perhaps I gave y'all the idea that
it was all spit without the gears
We aint about that shit

Words can leave you salivating
But sweat builds the fucking mountains
So don't ever forget that in a heartbeat
I could carry your dreams and forget I even did

You're swimming in it, but you can't even float
The irony of words is that they hold the strength of plans
Without the gunshot
You'll never be grand.

We can all aim high but precision does the talking
It's all too simple these days
With the chatter and spread of information
We're suddenly heroes and activists

But we haven't even blinked, the AC,
It's still running. It's near silence
but its not. The inaction,
It's deafening.

Heck I've gone mute,
I can't even rhyme shit
that could emphasize the prolonged
dream of a typeface, the letters were blank.

It was always that way,
It was always silent because at some point
We stop pinching ourselves and assume
that it was deserved…

Click

"Click".

It switched.
Unequivocally different.
Through those hardships
We finally turned around.

Perhaps reflections and glimmers
Gave us sight when we could not claim
But the panoramic put the shimmer
To shame.

Thank you.
In this brilliance we rose
Hoping to understand why the routine
drifts away in prose

For every detail and every insight
The neurons kept firing in question,
Let us speak for it is time
To mark this audacity in rhyme.

Although subtle
The cues went noticed
The portrait tact
And yet somehow,
Obtruded.

But lets digress from these colors
Let the light paint our shadow
For the steps keep calling
with a subtle vibration

We know its time.

Let me get hurt.

Let me sit here,
Let me feel the drops,
As my heart shatters,
and your shadow drifts away.

Let us get confounded,
Let us mix emotions,
Pour them all into a melting pot,
Pour them all into a blurry past.

I want to look back,
and know that I have felt,
I want to look back and know,
That I have loved.

Because from the pain,
and from the tears,
and from the painful nights,
that I shivered through,

There were the nights,
that you held my hand,
and gave me warmth,

There were the nights,
where it was only us awake,
in the whole wide world,
It was only us who felt love.
Let me believe that it was all true,

Let my tears be for the moments that I miss,
and not for the moments that I did not live.

Let me get hurt, because only then,
will I have lived.

Let me get hurt, because only then,
will I have loved.