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Mas poetry

Even the Best of us may Hang

This tie, a chromatic noose.
Her eyes, bifocals of a time I can't remember.
This chair, my last podium. My terrible Pride.
I told her I would not have it. I told her and I told her.
She never did listen.
This scourge I lift from my breath, but a whimper in the night.
A faint caw.

We had substance that the gods themselves did Envy. Perhaps that is why they have stricken me so. It left a mark I could not articulate. It pulses in my head. Why did she betray me?

That man that was not me. That love that was not mine. That Lust that held your throat.
Those arms have no space for two. These eyes still locked on you.
My only one.

I grew Fat on those words you fed me. As I am sure you grew Fat on mine.

She did not listen. My words went through, floating on a gentle breeze. She Slept while standing, right in front of me.

I sought reason. I sought control. I sought to dominate. I sought it all. As once I had.

You would not listen.
Her deaf was my death.

For the Last Time

I once had a problem with lying. Oh the stories I would tell.
I killed a man once you know? I used only my pinky.
I broke my leg trying to fly off my roof.
I told everyone at church my name was Josh. I told her I loved her. My car is in terrible shape because it is a lemon.
I want to be a teacher. I am a devout Catholic. I would never kill a child.
You were my biggest inspiration. I don't miss him at all.
I never cry.
My printer was broken. I know exactly what love is.
I never inhaled. I need to go home.
I never felt bad about lying until the moment I grew up. Now, I can't lie without it weighing heavily on me.
Because in reality, I can't tell the difference anymore.

Ode to the song I can't remember

To the song I can't remember whose title I do not know. To you, I sing with doos and dahs, a song I do not know.
I'll hum and mumble every off-key note.
To you the song, for whom my memory will not hold. Your beat, the taps of digits on my desk. Your rhythm, a distant dosey doh?
Your artist probably turns in his pit.
His a legacy is now my morning shave.
Do not damn me with your knowledge, oh song of songs.
Next time I won't sing you wrong.



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