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Feline FatalityEyes sealed shut,
With limbs struggling to-
I feel wetness;
On my nose.
And a tickling sensation-
Upon my twenty newborn toes.
I think I have fur;
And a tail that likes to move
Soon I'll be able to see,
And soon you'll say good bye to me.
I'm eight lives shy-
Of our lifespan's expectancy.
I Counted To Three.Just like you asked me to.
Your curiously distanced kiss;
Tracing my thin plumped lips.
I think I knew-
You were leaving;
Before I opened my eyes.
I began to miss you,
I heard your fast paced footsteps cease.
SoapscumSticky spiderwebs decourate our moldy shower walls extravagantly.
With skin so hot,
From heated water:
Pounding down my bare back.
I feel so cold.
Hands shake from lack of sugar in my-
Blue blood stream,
That sometimes leaks,
Razors that make my skin scream in,
Pruny from standing here so long.
Waiting for you-
To come save me.
75 Cents.I will smile bright-
With Black and-
Blotchy polka dots;
On the inside of my seemingly,
I've got wings
Strung up on-
And my halo;
It was plastic-
My Face's Perspective.Covered in a casual masquerade mask-
Mascara smears my stubborn lashes a darker black.
Accidental tears curiously crawl out-
Smearing my painted eyes hidden from other's sight.
Stranger danger attention brings obnoxious embarrassment-
And heat stains my usually uncoloured cheeks a pale pink.
Often I feel I cannot breathe;
As she covers me day after day continuously.
Then there's those awkward moments before our mirror-
I see myself bare,
Only to find I don't recognize myself.
Looking sad without a painted smile-
I think she sees her non-existent dad.
Prematurely Beautiful.She lays-
Cold and limp;
With stained hands laid out,
Rusty nails embedded-
Alike to God’s poor son;
Whom some pray to-
On two faced knees.
-In her skin.
Eight feet (b)‘low;
Where we take in our-
Damp need to live.
Her child eyes hold the stain,
Of plain pain-
And faked half assed joy;
Of a life where she lived in a house full of old men.
With not her,
But the blush dusted sea shell she had as her face’s skin.
Schizophrenia Is Me.Whisper, whisper - Dear, can you hear?
Into my ear,
They scream- frown,
"Turn (the) volume down!"
Psst... The volume is off dear,
Do you feel fear?
Shh, for you are-
One of us- stars.
Shining bright- invisible,
But only for,
A few hours more.
I Lost Myself.Somewhere;
Within the ocean's-
Overly sensitive serenity.
I can feel,
My twisted innards unwillingly-
As our burning sun-
Falls beneath a cotton candy horizon.
I'm fishing for my (anchor adorned) sinking personality-
But I think I lost track of my wiggling bait a long time ago.
Skeletons For The Poised.Cracked windows standing with frames falling halfway off watch-
Dusty cotton masses blow by wishing to fly but cursed by gravity.
Mousy mumbles bounce from paper thin often gossiping walls;
Once held so high in surgically plastic esteem for the filthy rich and their condemned souls.
They hired a fancy wall painter and forgot his name-
More worried about their death adorned secrets known to no living being for long.
They are telling a warning-
You may catch a deathly glimpse,
Of the haunted past,
And see the violence that-
Stained these walls a tainted red.
There is no heaven-
There is no hell.
There's just reality;
Keep in Touch!