Poll: Blue or Green?
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View poll results: Blue or Green?
Blue
4 100%
Green
0 0%
Voters: 4.
#1
Daybreak

The first rays of radiation slice through folds of lead,
But I refuse to give the day it's stead.
I languish in my artificial night-time,
Where comfort comes so soon, and
The only the only thing to distract my eyes
Is occasional light from a Halogen moon,
Sight is not the sense I need
When there are so many more that lead
Me to why I'm here,
And the life
That I hold dear.

The only sound a slight wind,
Softly blowing from the east,
From the mountain range I've climbed,
Exploring every face defined;
A new disovery every time.
Volcanic in nature, heat seems to
Radiate from peaks that look
Alive, rising like the slow breathing
Of a content creature.

My eyes are caught by the flicker of light
Rising from the east, over the mountains.
I contemplate once more,
Of moving to where the night lasts weeks,
Where I'd no longer have to fight the gods
For my man made midnight.

Regretfully I break away the stone
That holds back the glow,
Taking small comfort in knowing
This interruption is only temporary.



December 18


she's got it dripping from her fingertips,
pooling in puddles, nuclear waste-
she's got some on her worn down shoes.
it's just another stain to her, but it's something more to him,
another mark, another taste.
she's got the smell of booze on her lips,
she's speaking soft and free,
one last step in her
radiometric decay.

his apartment is a vintage rathole;
she taps her fingers on the faded wallpaper,
traces a path down the aging floral prints-
a cough escapes her painted lips.
she could never get used to the scent;
years of incense and Marlboro Lights
mingling with vomit and dollar store air freshener.
he enters the room, his smile twisting off his face;
she takes the proffered needle, and begins it all again.

"it'll hunt you down eventually.

it has already caught your scent."

the city reeks of red-
lipstick, blood, and strawberries-
tenement windows frost quietly,
delicate patterns glazing yellowed glass.
a man with a Stalin mustache hazes behind the
concealing frost.
a girl with waterfall eyes lives intraveneously
on borrowed satin sheets.
the night dies with a whimper;
sunborn mist rises from the steaming alleys,
clothes the city in cheap shimmer.

the city reeks of red-
lipstick, blood, and strawberries-
tenement windows frost quietly,
delicate patterns glazing yellowed glass.
#4
I find both to be dull, but I guess I'll be the first to vote
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some cockwanks just wan to throw 5 stars at her because she has a vag