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Green Sweater

@boyslookgoodingreen / boyslookgoodingreen.tumblr.com

I write poetry and like green
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this time tomorrow I might have tipped peach vodka down my throat hard shallow, shuttered maybe kissed you, not so secretly climbed over mountains of jealousy by now tomorrow, somewhere between when I come and when I pull myself away to leave- I’ll have been in your low-to-the-floor bed (again), the shirt I wore might be dirty from lying in your bedroom, hanging from the door your hands might have gone places no ones have ever been before, I’m not exactly sure of expectation but I hope you’ll respect hesitation all I know now about then is that by tomorrow I’ll have let you touch me and if I know you (pretty sure I do), it won’t be delicately so bite me like I’m and delicacy tomorrow, what really scares me, is that I know I’ll let you mouth at all of me

In 24 Hours Time

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Love your poems! You should check out some of my work. Also what would some of your tips be on writing poetry.

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ahhh!!! thank you so much! i totally will check out your stuff. My tips would be:

1) always have some paper or notes on your phone open and just write down anything you find interesting. for example, it could be anything from: social darwinism, a poppy, or the sound of nails tapping on a coke can

when you have writers block you can look back and get inspired 

2) rhyme scheme is great but it’s a huge pain in the ass if your brain gets stuck rhyming when you don’t want it to. If that happens, step away for a while and maybe read some more free verse type stuff to get out of the rhyme zone (which is also a great website btw) 

3) Alliteration is your best friend. It makes stuff sound really nice if you’re subtle about it.

thank you so much for the message !!!

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Serial Killer/ Dater you had your lines ready (one, two, three) they’ve been perfected, sculpted; it’s a subtle art the skill of a magician’s sleight of hand works inside your head transforms intentions into something that seems so much sweeter and who could know which number I am somewhere floating in the middle maybe, your tongue never tires of the old worn out phrases (hook, line, sinker) and lies have never made your lips sore- you don’t know of aching you crave blood, a warm body, addicted to touch- (the heat, the wave, the sheen of love) hidden box of mementos, one a piece; trophy-mounted hearts an obsession with screams you’ve left your mark, and I can’t discern carved signature from scar but nothing matters- who would care? that you’ve left me to rot in open air

Serial Killer/Dater 

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with eyes that refuse to close I watch as one world melts into another overwhelmed by how underwhelmed my never closing eyes seem to be indifferent quiet until noise tells me to unblur the world I sit, stoney, in front of a radio dialing around for a station that’s not static the room is always cold and my eyes never close

Collide

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Wise Sibyl All shriveled Deep inside her cave The old gods are dead Yet here she remains The walls start to crumble The roofs sinking in- Still she sits sagging Deep in the damp din She listens to echoes, But her hearing is going She squints at the shadows Yet nothing is showing She waits and she waits, And as time slides on by Sibyl just stays in that cave Still waiting to die

Sibyl's Cave

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