She Speaks My Language

...we always do this twisted little dance.
And we fight.
And we get over it.
And we fight.
And we get over it.
There’s no reason when either of us can’t quit on the other.
But we don’t.
Regardless of whether or not I ignore her for entire days at a time.
Whether I tell her my deepest truths or not.
Whether who I show up as is truly me or the lie I’ve made up.
She’s always there.
Always teaching me more.
Always making me better.
Always making me whole.
So I’m always here.
And I’m a bastard.
But I’m still here.
Who she saw as a child is not who she sees now.
Those are two different people.
My innocence...

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Detective Flame's First Case

...handing out disfigured outlines of lust

In their hunt for truth

Parallel oval prints in the dust against the window
And the flame has become fixated
Mesmerized by the delicate handprint
Top right
With knuckles for a wrist
Two round neighbors downstairs
Below them, a spread out hand
Fingers aimed down with no wrist

Clouds spread their rain mist
To reveal the hidden bits
The flame clearly missed

Shoulders with arms raised high
A disfigured frizzy head
Starts over the shoulders
Ends waist high

The clouds clear out

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Bark For A Bone

...And he waits. And he waits. And he waits

He’s blue holding his breath while he waits

For the bone
For the bone
For the bone
For the bone

Why not throw the dog a bone?

And he waits, and he’s watching the meat dance, and it marches into her hands
Before she CHOMPS!

He chops too. He chops Two. He comps Three. But no bone
He licks one...

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On The Edge

...stand closer together and merge into one observer. A living shadow obsessed with the nearest star. Dozens of ballet dancing fireflies twirl out of the woods. Spinning and dancing around this bigger deformed shadow.

Birds glide away into the sun. They become silhouettes themselves and vanish between the sky and ocean.

The shadow divides into two and face the emptied forest...

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...skies for a way to save her or kill myself. The celestials have abandoned space and time. The Count was lost for how many times the day was relived. It could be in years by now and I’d never know.
It’s irrational that memory is retained if the entire space-time of a day goes in reverse. Memory should be lost in the reverse order that it was learned, but I remember it all. I should be unaware of this loop. Perhaps this is punishment for the way I’ve lived my life.
It has beaten me. Countless times I’ve given in and simply witnessed her die. It’s not malicious. It’s destiny. It can’t be helped. I’m trapped.
She’s still quite

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Lustful Mentalism

...The ache, lustful with ideas.
Entertained by perpetual “What iffing.”

Once the curtain lifts the show never ends.
It’s who they are forever.

But there is no way to teach this.
There’s no way to explain it.
It has to be witnessed to be understood.
To be experienced.
You had to be there.

The best that can be done is to live what’s been earned.
One day, at least one will want what’s been learned.
When they see what’s brought to the table.
Only then will they follow.
They’ll imitate and in doing so they’ll learn, understand and realize it’s all hallow.

And it’ll turn me on.
Make these ideas more effable for the experiencee.
Make the experiencee more F-able to me.

Orgasmic in nature.
Being present during the realization period of an individual is better than sex.
To watch profound ignorance be lifted.
Exchanged for clarity and awareness.
It’s hard to explain.
Makes me

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It's Just Lust

...I dress.

Sneak out.

Say a lost cellphone lead to lost contact information when we cross paths.

It tends to take me a while to realize leftover strings were tangled around me.
They go unnoticed for weeks as I go about my day tugging them.

This is why lying is a sin.
Lucky for me, I didn’t.
About you… Well.
Good luck?

There’s no guilt when both players agree to put all the cards on the table before the game.
When the other player holds cards back and still loses, it’s almost a karmic high.

It’s an ironic plot twist from their point of view.
Something I...

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It’s pleasant to not be alone in my bed.
Her heartbeat keeps me warm.
I’m clear minded and with purpose when I’m with her.
We lay there, pillow under my head, her head on my chest, and we wait.
No thought other than how her arm feels across my chest.
I can feel her smile, relax, be happy.
That’s enough for me.
That’s really all it takes.
If I can keep her this way, if she can be this person forever, and this moment never ends, it just keeps going and going… I’ll be happy.
I’ll be fine.
If I can find the formula and assure we stay like this, in this state, this mindset, I’ll know for sure I’ll be happy.
Only if she is.
Whatever it takes.
Is it love? Perhaps.

By Jack Thomas

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