Cancels subscription

I, though I hardly covers me should be more than what life has made me or perhaps that’s just me being greedy, see how it’s me? me, me, me and if it wasn’t me it would be I which hardly covers me. Sometimes I cover her with kisses she covers me with noughts and crosses,…

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Dark blue

She liked it when you said that what we had would last forever but you never knew how long forever was and that was just a micro moment in the fullness of the universe when things that once were good just went from bad to worse. And when the chasm yawned a bit like you…

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Lucky charm

Wear it share it put it on a chain and walk it, but ‘what if’ you just don’t post it? Instagram for instant fame Facebook is just the same Twitter for a bit a fun, Linkedin, Blogger another cog, a wheel in the mill, your tube, youtube? always on bloody strike what’s not to like?…

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Closer

The last man standing will be on Facebook posting selfies…

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Iced

I don’t write for you I write quite selfishly for me, me me me he said, and I meant it. sometimes I chat chit just for a change. but I still write this for me if you disagree complain to your MP that won’t do any good either…

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The useless information kiosk

What makes me me? because it is about me me me me me me, we are about me you are all about me she is me me me we make me me me me, so why do I bother asking?…

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Full name,

unknown. They put something inside me shiny, bright to blind me, but I find it easier to see when that something is inside of me. a medical procedure? inserted through an aperture? I’m sure that I don’t know, but they put something inside me, a tracking device so they can find me?…

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.
Then it became obvious that the obvious wasn’t so

motion sensors compensated for the walking wounded
and on the front line where time was allowed elevation
and the stations of the cross where observed by forward gunners,
the post man strolled through first class carnage to deliver field green bandages.

dreams occasionally obstruct my breathing and believing the dreams to be real
I steal back into wakefulness,
but always return to the battleground back to the sounds of thunder.

I know that if I go
under for the third time
there’ll be no
elevation to sight a line on me
no stations of the cross
there’ll be nothing left of me
no cannon to the right of me,

I wonder if I’ll be free then
without oxygen
to inflate my ego.

It may be that it will be
so.