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Fevered, I glanced in the Mirror Part 2

(false advertisement & miss communication )

By Marcus RomanoPublished 5 years ago 2 min read

(False Advertisement)

Now wake up there brother

Make him, take him

A bubble of water,

Of a deserts color

Put thy faith in dirt

Tell the sky your plea

Into the aversion of discovery

Start writing a letter

Send it with a ruby

And a prayer to the heart

Time taking us forewarned

Into the warmth of a whisper

The comfort of the womb

Holding on like a display case

As mother, she shapes, thy face

(A Mis-Communication)

A phone slips into blips

To save our soul

Words now missing

Hang up the sorry

In a casket we sing

From under doors

And TV sets

A lie, a lie

Thy Weight as Sky

Peeling her from roots

You timed removed

Now you dive

I remember the All

The saddle freezing me

And watching you in school

Comb your hair,

Blue and bejewled

And a tongue, the ruining

Words, hear, for one

Pass in aquantince

You said : "I understand"

Then fell, to snuff her hood

And in directing yarns and twine

Second time, root removed;

You prove : Love has died

And pleasure is food, if suffering

An awful lie, of Weight satisfied

Talking to a face ;Stranger in mosaic

Never getting clear

Still, I come back

To one day prove, a fact

He and I are We in the Sea

(objective reality)

Kissed her eyelids pon the mourning

As I layed her down to rest

Singing incessentily of the Sun,

And what it knows, it nows best

Does He know the place, above the neck?

That only the favored touch

A cry of broken sentences

A love, afar, afar, too much!

Laying awake in bed

Worries, smoke form a cigerette

Coffin becomes the bathroom floor

As the procelin God We barn

Some drugs, a cross, a country

Ploting on a graph my death

Each sit, did it whisper

"I am and I and non at best"

Thus determined, falling teeth onto knees

Settled for a ringing telephone;

And voice of an answering message;

A kiss from a girl broke her jaw

The worm her Father gave her in an apple core

With lies bright enough for burning

Among rows, ripe and by secrets turning

Marked X of a dayls unfurling

And the sky, and the sky was gray

Beneath a clock , decayed

surreal poetry

About the Creator

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