Poetry Blog by Emily Collins

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Rose Casserley on untitled (Sat, 2 May 2015 12:19 pm)

Patricia and Stefan Wilde on Fear (Thu, 30 Apr 2015 10:07 am)

Emily Collins on Sex and Cigarettes (Wed, 29 Apr 2015 02:53 pm)

Martin Elder on Sex and Cigarettes (Tue, 28 Apr 2015 10:10 pm)

It's five to three and my mind won't quiet
A million different thoughts congregated
In a rioted debate
I wait on the clock to stop but the
Tick tick tick is keeping me awake
Time stopping time from stopping.
It's strange, the unconscious brain
Like tapping into the universe
In sleep. 
Body in a slumped heap
I lie awake with these thoughts
Ironically keeping me up
Simultaneously worryin...

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An Old Man's Woe

Sat down the local with my usual half

Reminiscing of times long passed
Routine seat not far from the bar
Hand on trembling glass, eyes locked afar
 
Different speaker every Thursday
To teach us auld and tufty
But my brain't seems, is getting harder to exercise
Fact's more difficult to memorise 
 
To soften old age with sweet whiskey
And drink away my pensioners wag...

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untitled

Anarchy runs through my bones, A sanctuary, a mind set in stone, No worth in a life without purpose, Enough people around me trying to surplus, Without reason or must. Society isn't run from home, We're fed a diet of lies and bad omens, A curfew on our personal time, Cursing those who brave past the line, Fucking with your mind. Sobriety is harshly overrated, When the priority is to...

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Fear

There in the corner of the black beneath my bed

There lies a box not the size of my head
From within lurks a creature, never seen before
hind legs in the air and chest to the floor
 
The blood in my head, heavy and warm
Like the breath of the air prior a storm
Locked in place, I feel a prick on my neck
An aura behind me I'm unable to check
 
Pushing me under, I've no ...

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creaturecreatures of the nightdarkdark matterFearmonsternightterror

Sex and Cigarettes

The smell of sex and stale cigarettes, Two bodies connected in life and death, Chapped lips meet between the sheets, Lust in our bones, the Reaper in the air. How rare an oxymoron, neither with clothes on, We follow recreation with deadly inhalation, Skin touching skin, lips wrapped around uncertainty, Two separate entities leaned inwards somehow gently, Feeling so alive, ...

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