Exhibit 39

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Begin excerpt:
 Red lights abound,
 A flickering side-show masking cute frowns,
 Dressed up all pretty;
 just want to be found.
 Empty glasses accenting nothing
 but young blood craving something; more than this nothing. 
  
 Things seems good,
 potentially normal.
 He wants to chat,
 thinks I’m immoral.
  
 I tell him to fuck off.
 Moods seem dampened,
 But I bite back the tears.
  
 Because after all;
 it was just a compliment, nothing weird.
 At least that’s what my best friend seemed to think.
  
 But how does that make me a slut when all I did was let him know you exist?
  
  
 Hours later the bars all closed.
 My spirits had lifted; I suppose.
  
 Said my farewell and let her drive; away.
  
 because she was always more poised than I…
 …thought I could be.
  
 Can’t question that, because it’s easier just to trust she’s got your back. And if she has my back, I’m sure she has her own…you can’t defend another if you’re all exposed. Can you?
 And if I can’t honestly say I have my own, then who’s got her back? Because I clearly don’t…since I’m the bitch who let her drive away; all fucked up on oxy cut with glaze.
  
 Too late now,
 I say to myself;
 Walking down the street,
 On my way to the house.
  
 Few minutes later,
 phone makes a ding,
 weights all seem lifted,
 when she says she’s home safe.
  
 And that makes one. I thought to myself, eyeing that same shadow across the way. It belongs to the creep that I’d kept at bay. But now it’s all dark, and I’m not feeling sure…that I could do it again. Alone. Here.
 He probably lives on campus, probably not a bad guy. Just a little pushy when hyped up on rye. The rhyming is lazy when I’m all worked up. Thing’s don’t quite flow and we all know what they serve at bars. I could try and rhyme alcohol for you but I don’t think it would matter, in communicating this learned fucking reflex that causes me to cower…when I see a man. When I don’t know what he’s doing over there.
  
 Across the way.
  
 I’m sure it’s nothing. That little flash every thirty seconds is probably his phone.
 Still; my hand is on that whistle…the best gag gift I ever got.
  
 And I’m sending this message because I just want you to know, that I don’t feel quite right being alone…right now. And maybe the drugs just cloud up my mind, maybe his shadow is nothing but kind, but maybe I don’t feel like he’s reassured me of that the way he touched me without asking.
 So, I’ll send you a text in a minute or two,
 When I walk through that door we’ll know I was a fool,
 for shivering and quivering in these fucking high heels,
 hoping to God he isn’t the kind of tool,
 who likes my false advertisement; because as far as I’m concerned my light belongs to you.
  
 So try not to worry,
 I’ll be home in a fetf–
  
 -Excerpt from exhibit 39, sent in the early hours of June 11th, moments before the incident took place. 

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Beds

Stepped outside, only to meet a blank stare from a dead looking sky. A grey kind of light, overcast but dry. The kind of day, we would have stayed, inside. Curled up on that little thing we called our bed.

Wasting a day away, never felt so great. Now I can’t escape the red, fogging up my vision; hate.

I want nothing more than to walk back inside and lay on our bed. But you’re done with me. With we. You moved ahead. I should respect that, but my stomach feels like lead, and I can’t even curl up in my own fucking bed. Without crying out for you.

So fuck you for that, and all the rest.

I’m just trying my best, to just move on.

But when my place of rest, turns to bitter test, of me vs. myself and the memories of us and the nights we lay awake dreaming of less…and more…and how the world could be ours if we’d just reach out and…

But that’s worthless now.

And I’m worthless now.

Too bad you’re not.

And I want nothing more than to burn that bed, but I’m too filled with dread, that when it’s gone, these fading memories will finally leave my head.

_____________________

Hadley6_______________________________________________________

Portfolio Link: https://blu-art.myportfolio.com/

Willow o’ Wisp

Le Willow o’ Wisp

Cornhusking the dog,
It pauses,
Before sipping it’s grog,
A mixture of fermented oils from frogs.

A salesmen at start,
A sick fuck at heart,
Clyde shapens his pitch,
And my lips; how they part.

Wide an’ oh so wallow,
Like this neck in a noose,
He sells me his product,
As my hands won’t come loose.

The bonds o’ his trade,
Le willow of wisp,
A fragment; no spade,
Of hell and its bliss.

Behind me he walks,
Continues his talks,
And slithers his husk around my kin.

Making me watch,
He delivers his thoughts,
Oh; how do the knives even talk?
And;
“The darkness always wins.”

Jagged

Jagged

_______
You’ll never believe:

Some people break and stay broke,
Some people break then make,
the best of the rest.
Others,
Try to put the pieces back,
but the jagged edges stick out,
and cut those who try to help.

Please,
Shatter my rotting soul,
Grotesque and festering mold.
So,
I can put them back right.

Please,
Bring me that light,
and,
let it pierce my shell; so cold.
Do we need to grow so old?
Just want to do what I’m told.
Tell me.

Blood-Hound (Poem + Drawing)

Blood Hound   —–>PDF with proper formatting, manuscript below. 

 

Blood-hound

________
I’ll be your sick-bird,
you be my blood-hound,
My hearts in your mouth,
Breaking neck spins round.
But,
You’re not the one to blame,
You see; I can’t complain,
This is all you’ve known.
Blackened bloody mold,
Just doing what you’re told.

Your love was a warhead,
A straight time-bomb,
You taught me this lesson,
That I ain’t so strong.
Take your pound of flesh,
Don’t matter if it’s right,
Hit me while I’m fresh,
You know I’ll never fight,
As long as you let me,
Love you more than this life.

So here’s to that jaw,
Tightening ‘round me,
I’m just your dead-bird,
So be my blood-hound,
‘Cause baby,
You’re the one with teeth.
And all I am is meat.

_______________

7×11 cut watercolor, Pen and marker. Edited fox

The One thing I got Right (Poem)

The One thing I got Right
_____
You lay there and seem,
A goddess to me.
Vibrant deadly stream,
the painting from my dreams,
fire-born Seraphim.

You are the one mistake,
I won’t break,
because kissing you,
Brings me closer to heaven.

And the way your breath,
Ignites winter’s air,
Could save me from death.
This time that we share,
the truths we lay bare,
All let me know,

You are the one thing,
I did right,
the only mistake,
I’ll never take,
For granted.

Yeah,
we’re measured in heart-beats,
as we start flying away.
My love,
piece me together,
and tell me to stay.
I don’t know what’s holy,
but baby we are.
Forget the darkness,
that pain of yesterday,
let me sew you together,
as love lights the way.

Stay here with me, and there’s nothing we can’t create.
Tell me you need me, because that’s all that I say,
Your love is like heaven, so show me the way.
____________________

Reworked Poems (9/27/17) + Art

Had a few hours to tinker around with the balance of some of these. I also finished a drawing I started a few years back. As always just click the blue links for a PDF version of each poem with the superior formatting. Drawing is at the bottom.

Fractured Memories (Click for PDF version):

Fractured Memories
_______
The pain that’s easiest to hide,
Numb,
The one hurt I can’t abide.
I find,
The times I want to die,
Are when I stop feeling alive,
But you threw the die,
Told me to try,
You didn’t laugh when I’d start to cry,
Or when I told you to help me fly,
Away from here.
I wanted was to be free,
Can you be my key,
The one and only who’ll let me be,
Me.
I don’t know where I’m going,
Or how long-away I’ll be,
But you’ll live on forever,
In these fractured memories.

____________

Born of Frost

Born of Frost

________

Born of frost,
Splicing winter’s cross,
with summer’s burning moss.

They laughed and jeered,

Twelve foot tall,
A thousand thrall,
Skin; an ice-plate wall.

Now they cry in fear.

Deathly glacier,
A cruel-dawn’s slaver,
Draconian martyr,
Rapturous erasure.

Beware my dear,

The towering eolith,
No man or myth,
Fear our moiré; the WinterSmith.

_______________

Call me Faceless

_______________

Call me Faceless

________
Who am I to speak to what’s wrong or right?
One who’s closer to oppressor than victim,
I try on a long and stormy night,
To decipher this dictum,
Oblong and gritty plight.
How can I complain,
When I rest on the laurels of another’s fortune,
Screaming a phantom pain.
Who am I to say what you should do?
When I’m a short step away from weak,
Despite being one of the lucky few,
Who has money enough to speak?
Inherent disdain,
A fallacy tainting the fabric of my minds misfortune,
Learned condition renders me lame.
Do I really care,
About blood-soaked policies of an empire built on the backs,
Of those with actual despair?
Why can’t I just relax,
Cut out the fancy fucking syntax,
Abuse our militaristic axe,
Deny the horrendous acts,
Against children who couldn’t afford a simple tax.
But it’s not easy for me to lie,
When I walk outside and watch the homeless die,
Sure,
Call me weak,
Because I cry,
Because I try,
To care.
You tell me money isn’t happiness,
Then tell me not to worry; because I have enough to eat?
As if the relative suffering of others is supposed to placate my crimson-soul.
My truth;
The only thing worse than trying but failing,
Is giving up entirely

______________________

Media: 6b pencil + a bic pen.

Paper: 6×9 inch cut watercolor paper.

FullSizeRender (25)

Easy (<3 Poem)

Easy——->Click for formatted PDF version of Poem

These lighter poems, I write them to a specific person. I think that’s why they are so stripped down. They’re honest, embarrassingly so. I don’t think that’s the worst thing for poem to be. It isn’t deep, confusing, or all that thought provoking, but I mean it.

Unformatted version below.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Easy

The pain that’s easiest to hide,
Numb,
The one hurt I couldn’t abide,
I find,
The times I want to die,
Are when I stop feeling alive.
But you threw the die,
Told me to try,
You didn’t laugh when I’d start to cry,
Or when I told you to help me fly,
Away from here.
That all I wanted was to be free,
And you were the key,
You were okay with letting me be,
Me.

Distinctions #1

Happiness,

Most equate you to the seething, euphoric, and acute joy one feels during an accomplishment. That feeling of well-being and contentedness, whispers promising safety as you engulf us. But, that’s not your true face. You’re a conceptual construct, a platform, an unrealistic ideal.

Happily ever after?

How could you exist, when acute joy is so fleeting. Do you refer to a plateau in which we achieve permanence in euphoria, a chronic dose of endorphin-dreams? Those wisps we’d do anything the infuse, to caress, if only for a moment. Pretend, for a moment, that you are real. What then? After a year of the pleasant mist, doesn’t the equilibrium shift? The extraordinary is the new ordinary. Do we want that? Are the ever-shifting dunes of the human mind really that terrible? To fore-go all moments to crystallize our being into a single emotion. That elusive and momentary bliss.

No. I don’t think that’s what we really want. So I’ll keep chasing the fragments of hope, follow them through the glaciers, through forest-fires, and give myself the time to figure it out on my own.