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The Honest Prose of a Drunk

Assortment 2

By Sebella SigelPublished 4 years ago 1 min read
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Remembrance Born

She comes dressed in mourning

By the hushed sigh of twilight

And the brutal ache of dawn.

"What do you seek?" She is asked.

"I look for peace." She prays back,

Yet her tone is the cold fury of storm.

The choir quiets around her,

Letting her pass unhindered.

She is regal in her open sorrow,

With fallen starlight in her eyes,

But a fierce anger in her heart.

She's no longer the flight of doves,

And this angel never will be again.

She is the watch of nightingales,

And the proof that not all Pride is sin.

She is the Angel of Remembrance.

She will lead them in.

Fuck Boy

Doing anything for you

Is like putting pearls on a pig.

It's funny at first,

But ultimately pointless,

And an expensive waste

Of time and money.

Hipster

Farmer's market?

More like an impromptu

Dog shitting show.

Color Blocked

My brain, and other people like me,

Are wired to think and speak

In black and white.

Other ‘normal’ people

Can speak in color.

I’m a black and white person

Who loves color

So I do my best to mimic

Those who can speak in color,

But can’t seem to ever get it right.

Sometimes, I use a green word

When the sentence in all in reds.

Sometimes, my entire shading is off,

More magenta than purple.

surreal poetry
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