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life is killing me
Wednesday, 9 February 2005

Topic: cryptic writings
START TRANSMISSION -

porcelain skin
so thin, i faint to breathe...
a thought floats. .
.. . a dream, a cycle, a past that haunts..
.. . my eyes wide awake ... yet they lie dormant ... ..
afraid to tell the truth.
. ... afraid they live in the lie..

to touch
to feel.
i feel as if nothing at all
it covers
lying thick in DEEP sick noise

her skin so lite and free..
a touch...
. ..so slight and frail.. .
. .. . she breaks and is set free.... .
. .so beautiful...
. .. .. so bright. ...
.. .light breaks the haze...
..
.
.. ..
the haze..
. . haze. .
. . .i hate.. ..
morning.
brings fate and i start again... ..
.. .. .
. ..
..
.
.
porcelain skin.
leaves me longing. ..
. ..
.
.

...

- END TRANSMISSION

lack of control by no one in particular at 4:29 PM PST

Friday, 22 April 2005 - 7:21 AM PDT

Name: webmistress
Home Page: http://spaces.msn.com/members/webmistress101/ ,,,, http

Please consider this my comment for all your postings up to this point. WOW! Your stuff reminds me of the sort of thing you would hear in the old coffee houses of the 60's. Where the beatniks would hang out and drink espresso (before it became a popular drink on every street corner!). Everyone dressed in black or other somber colors and wearing a beret.

There was usually a small stage tucked in the corner, complete with tall stool and microphone. Someone would pick up the bongos and tap out a not quite beat, beat and another would begin reciting this sort of poetry off the top of their head.

I am not actually (though almost!) old enough to have frequented such places, but you see them portrayed in films etc.

Well, I guess my comment is ........ Very cool!!

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