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Garden









Garden




It's heavenly/
When you're next to me/
Especially/
When we're on, definitely/
The best of these/
Days on island, evergreen/
Grass while the other side is feathery/
Pillows and splendidly/
Picked pleasantries/
But incredibly/
It's not always perfect, instead of these/
Moments tempting me/
To make love to you I'm heading to leave/
Through the door, potentially/
Spelling the/
End of these/
Reveries/
Our memories/
Are fresh and clean/
When flesh would meet/
But still, I'm feeling upset and bleak/
I dread your absence/
It leaves me dead, thrashing/
Around spent, fashioned/
From lead, massive/
Bent amounts of/
Blended sadness/
And left handed/
To the depths of madness/
I kept asking/
What was wrong and you wrestled out of/
My arms to then panic/
And with bated breath ban me/
From what had been traction/
I guess averages/
Pan out and I spent handsomely/
And lent lavishly/
To everyone but myself, not a cent down to me/
Pens, pads and ink/
Are my bed pals this eve-/
Ning, while I'm reading/
And keeping/
My tears to myself, thinking/
Just how could these/
Days let alchemy/
Run its course and dissect happily/
The love I'd kept salvaging/
From the wrecks happening/
With every night she'd message back to me/
Angry, only to then pounce on me/
When I'd see her, pretend half the things/
We'd yell irrationally/
At each other were unsaid fantasies/
Because I've been cast at sea/
Past the reef/
My pallor weak/
Growing dimmer and dastardly/
Ounces keep/
Adding each/
Day into pounds that beat/
Me down to knees/
But I'm proud, I leap/
Out in faith/
Saying I've found a way/
To the crown you see/
When you glance at me/
Yet when I hold and squeeze/
You pull and knead/
Your way through my doleful pleads/
And corner me/
With a soul's defeat/
Torturing/
Me with scorn and teeth/
Bared, warnings, reap-/
Ings you told to me/
Cold and teem-/
Ing with formless feel-/
Ings I'm only sleep-/
Ing here to mourn the peace we/
Once molded each eve-/
Ning, until the corpse is clean/
My sword it gleams/
As I go to fall on it/
Our promise-/
S are solemn/
But talk causes/
More false problems/
Than it ever solved, comments/
Harsh pockets/
Of language start charging/
Up the heart's wallet/
Until its money's all gone and the/
Heartstrings are falling/
Snipped with barbs polished/
With blood and dross carving/
A tall marking/
On the soul of this distraught artist/
But I'm not walking/
Away, so stop marching/
Take my hand/
Let's make our stand/
Against the dark farce this/
Fight has become, just drop two cents/
And arguments/
Because we've got truth bless-/
Ing us, and our garden/

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