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Ever TrulyYou'd have to slit my throat and kill me,
Detaching my head from its enabled body,
To spill my thoughts and experience my dream world.
Only then could you ever truly paint
With all the pigments of my imagination to recreate
My fantasies and bind them in a book to finally read my mind.
You'd have to take a saw to my chest and cut me open,
Separating skin and bones from my soul,
To hear the broken beat and know my heart.
Only then could you ever truly see
The imperfection that is my genetic makeup
When all you've ever known is my flawlessness.
You'd have to crush my hands and smash my fingers,
Unbuttoning my joints, keeping these capable palms
From my will, never again to get a hold on my thoughts.
Only then could you ever truly feel
The empty weight of your hands hanging at your sides,
Knowing that mine no longer carry emotion.
You'd have to break my legs and unscrew my feet,
Leaving me without means of escape, so I could lay on my back
Forever, searching for lightless points on your po
Weak StreakI discovered it when
I least expected it.
I am protected,
I've always been.
I took a chance
On breaking this streak
Of mine, called "weak".
But I must go
Get rid of my fear.
Eyes of MineIt hovers over the surface, scanning for an imperfection.
It comes up empty, but doesn't stop searching.
If my pupils were lasers, your neck would be slit,
But at least you would know it was me.
If my iris were replaceable, your neck would be collared;
If my lashes thinker, you'd be tied to me forever.
If my mouth were not drowning, I'd say you were mine.
It bores into your skin, burning, stabbing, clawing.
It doesn't hurt you or even touch you, so I quit.
If my eyes stopped seeing, your neck would be black,
But I know it would still be there - just not for me.
If my iris were irreplaceable, you'd be free from my grasp;
If my lashes weren't thick, you would never be bound.
And since my mouth is still drowning, you may never be mine.
PhotosynthesisSearching for light in a forest of tall trees
Keeping night for the small plants,
That are stuck on the bottom;
But determined are they that find a way
To climb up the side with their vines.
Reaching the top, the sunlight is a shock
To their system, making hot friction
From light on its skin, as water floods in
At the roots, and breathes in from its leaves
The exhales of man and the food for a plant.
It recycles a breath for the best use of another,
That's O2 for short, and starches and sugar.
Glucose is release to finish the process
Of a plant being fed by the sun, oxygen and water.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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