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Nico Julleza Jun 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Loneliness is the name we gain
Abandoned in attics of despaired shame
We might not know who our maker is
Nor even how we're birthed without a single kiss

Sailing shore to shore of no causing way
We fly, we glide, we slip away

Each day is our rite without rights
Pondered those colors from black to white
And out our interluding charades
Oh, how we are judge by senseless mocking jays

Enraptured by our capacities we can engage
Still we leered showing a zealous face

From dust, A man was oddly fabricated
A tapestry of wonders to show its vivacity
He's so different from our Avant name
And has a thought that could seize a luring day

But if he never saw how wide the narrow he'd take
From dust a man shall die ever the same
#Dust #Man #Fly #Glide #SlipAway

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
I ate slow,
while you analyzed my every stir,
From a lost glance,
to a shift in the seat.
You fed me pheromones on a spoon,
    and I slurped them down like honey.
Thick and dysphagic.
Disconcerted with the derailment,
   it eased the tears that hid behind tangles of unwashed hair.
Interluding like a meandering mind on a charring back burner,
                     the persistence lacked.
Interluding stolen kisses, as fleeting thoughts
traverse the corridors of time; often acting less
of our true selves in a desperate bid to win the
affection of those we hope to love - to be loved
But all bets are off, once the cards are laid bare
upon the table – as the choice to remain or depart
hinges on how long you are willing and able.

But if I'm falling, dreaming, waiting... in a caged
thought; plotting, scheming, believing that one's
love should also keep its word; can it truly hold
more weight than those three burdensome words?

And I hope they aren’t words more so said, less
expressed, or expressed in public, but having no
real private impression — just making up stories
for the press, as the headline reads you've been
pressing all my wrong buttons, I'm pressed.
"I love you," if that is your declaration, I guess
as some loves are just for period of time; acting
as an interval. But also, the ones that are so hard
to forget. But I wouldn’t remember you as a lover,
but someone who was once a friend - just friends.
Pale in comparison
Raven to my dove
Pins and needles
Interluding invaders
Like a sponge
Where’s my
Pitter patter the silence
I wanna drown in it
Salivating resemblance
Tears in my hands
Am I losing my faith
Thee ability to move on
Unhinged the kettles turning black
Not in Unison
Trivial pursuit an endless cycle
Of melancholy
A Captivity
My point of view
Has held me in
Unsteady hand cinder blocks
Have me sinking
I have never been light of foot
Walking on egg shells
Trust is gone
I left it down at the seashore
My walls went up long ago
Swan song
Sing louder help me
Float head up abound in lightness
And let the dim dark tones
Flutter on there own time

— The End —