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The StairwellThe StairwellBlank/Free5-9-116 stanzasthere's comfort in the basementwhere days of old are sleepingwaiting for shining resurrectionfrom their carpet fiber graveschallenges call from ceilingswaiting on levels i've never seenand as i lie here in the stairwelli fold myself away - concernedi'm far from where i came to bewhere my head rested on pillowsall made of snow and familiarityi've been clawed so far from theretrapped in ovens and fireplacessoot building castles in my lungsmy wirebrain lies there in the stairwelland a buried laughter sings for meno decision: i'm torn, i'm torn, i'm tornhome is gone and fading is the placewhere i'd hung my hat on stalagmitesand curled over myself in protectionand as i lie silently - i'm quiet nowi see all those old things leavingand in the stairwell, i crawl upwardmy comfort isn't something to swim in
Season's RedemptionSeason's RedemptionBlank/Free4-14-1114 stanzasi'll pay homage to the fallen meand i'll drop flowers at my grave.then i'll return to that place:where chalk lines of me are drawn.i had walked this earth a ghostfor days and days and one year.my soul was ripped out of my eyesand for eons after, i was blind.on my tombstone, i etched it inwith the knife he used to slay me:"Died from loss of identity. 4-14-10At approximately 4:30pm."and when he finally returned afterone billion tears had been shed,he let answers slip through the cracksof keys as he typed hollow words.inside i'm still tortured by dayswhen thinking of eating disgusted me.when i sobbed until i'd been zombified,i clung to the things that burned.he never knew just what that was:the pain i felt as i hung on his sleeveand begged for sweet resurrection.i still hope he gets his share.my world crashed in heavy chunks:the sky fell, trees withered, i died...though Earth was peering into spring,i was
RepatriateRepatriateBlank/Free4-11-1113 stanzasbelieve me, i can almost taste it:that crisp air - crisping stillof the homeland i reluctantly lefta place hanging from my heartlike the hook in Salmon's lip:metal, cold, with a lake water tasteall those memories i've gatheredlike stones; like shells; like flowersi can smell those times, even nowbelieve me, i can close my eyesand see myself: looking outmy window at the maple treesi recall how hard i had beggedfor budding leaves to grow for meas if the sleeping beings could hearthe summer air still stings, you knowfrom back then, you rememberand i watch myself cry on the stairsbelieve me, there were better timesyes, tart and cinnamon autumnswhen school meant to stand in windowsthe muddy springs whisper things nowlike i should be redeeming a prizefor the anniversary of the day i diedfamiliar places hold gifts for mesome hands are old - others skeletalbearing hearts that stopped beatingbelieve me, not all is that o