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Toxicity

7/26/2016

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Sick to my stomach
trippin on your vomit,
behavior, and lies.

How do you sleep at night
while your liver is drowning
the purity and good in life?

Are you tethered?
Are you too far weathered
in your cans of clouded vision?

Pop another tab.
Buff your welcome mat
laid for bad decisions,
and let it shine
like pyrite in the noonday sun.

Usher in the gin and tonic
dressed in tails,
smooth and toxic.
And let it burn you down.

But don't you dare try to
take my children with you.

Because if you do,
those tabs you'll be poppin,
won't belong to those
God-damned,
cloud-filled cans.

Oh hell no.


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Electric Lotion

7/20/2016

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I've chased time to find you.

Stumbling on the footpath,
fumbling over puddles
of unused minutes that
left trails of empty wakes.

I could never shake you.

From groggy naps
upon mountain tops,
to destitute deluges
of wishes and
would-be fishes.

All made the days slip by.
Merely tadpoles,
and guppies,
and sleep in my eyes.

Now, while fully awake,
the glass mocks me.
It ticks and tocks me.
Gravity keeps knocking
at my door, begging for more
while the stars wait in queue
for the right alignment.

What the fuck ever.

I'll still chase time.
Just to find you.

Because you,
you get under my skin
like an electric lotion
I want to beg for.
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Spectacle

7/15/2016

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I could scream it from
the rooftops,
but that would be unconventional,
or too cliche.
Over used?
I could die with one slip.
I'd rather just strip
myself down to the nubbins
of my soul.
I'd rather just show
you.

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Betrayal

7/7/2016

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Between the midnight pulses,
through the wanton webbing
of the witching hour,
you slither in on shadows.

Poised in forked tongue repose,
you strike.
Your mark is sunken deep,
and I weep for the child
that I was.

Naivety is lost on youth,
but you,
You sell it like snake oil.

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A.A. Cavern

7/6/2016

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His tears
toppled down cheeks
like whiskey pellets -
hollow and rotten.
Empty cans clanked
on a bedside table,
too sticky to grace the floor.
A heavy waft escaped
a dying man's
cracked mouth,
and groaned out
retreated apologies.
Waste not.
Want not.
And somewhere,
a door slam
echoed
echoed
through the chambers
of a lifeless, drowning heart.

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    Author

    Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.

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  • Home
  • Showcase
  • Audrie Bretl Roelf
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  • About
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  • Writer Bios
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  • Contact
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