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Realize - euphI laughed as those two words slippedpast my almost-dreaming lips:my name and yours, together.My first, your last.I loved the taste of them;the way that my lips smiledas I wrapped them around the thoughtand suddenly made it real;my heart singing its wayto peaceful slumber.How could I have knownyou were doing the same thing?
Oxygen - euphoriaI draw you in.slowly, deliberately;and the purity of this, ofusmakes the corners of my mouth turn upin secret, adoring knowledge.I breathe you out, quickly,for my fears are released a bit morewith every exhale.(And I need to fill my soul with you again...)
Angel - by euphYou don\'t seem to carethat my halo fell off long ago,trampled underfoot and lostby those too careless to understandwhat they were destroying.Your gentle fingers push my piecesslowly back together;and I am left womdering how you knowwhere they all belong,when I never even knew how many were missing.The sweet goodness in your heartmakes me want to be okay;to somehow find my halo, even ifI can\'t really wear it anymore -just so I can hold it and make myself believethat I\'m good enough to have someone like you.
Untitled As Always - euphJust a little time was what I needed.To back up, reassess.Fix.I wanted to stop the fear/crave cyclethat left you dry;and kept me drowning.So I said, \"Wait.\"I never said never.You said your love could be patientbut you never turned down the sex,and I did it because I knew it would keep you there.(at least for a while.)I wanted you, needed you.Yes, I loved you.Enough to want to be okay for you,to give you the person that I could be.Not what I was.But hope is a dangerous thing.I believed, I began to open up,to smile within myself at the possibility.And I let myself remember and forget,all at once...until the x\'s and o\'s...At least you didn\'t call her angel.
Gyro Down - Part 1He\'d had a long flight. Leaving Marion, Kansas earlier that day, he had landed in Sioux Falls, South Dakota to fuel up. He was a doctor, flying to his clinic in Sisseton, in the northeast corner of the state. He flew the route often, simply following Interstate 29 up through Iowa and South Dakota until he reached the small town. He had another hour or two to go. It was already 12:30 a.m.His craft earned a few interested and curious looks from other pilots and ground crew. Called a gyrocopter, it was considered an ulralight aircraft. It was an odd-looking thing, with a propeller on the back of the cabin and a rotor on top. The man had a recreational pilot\'s license; meaning he wasn\'t qualified to fly planes, but could fly this craft for \"recreational\" purposes, during daylight hours and in good weather. He had purchased the craft to allow him to reside in Kansas with his family, and still work in Sisseton.He fueled up the craft and also filled two 5-gallon cans of fuel,
Forgettable - euphShe\'s always been told she is beautiful,and she\'s accepted this,being neither proud nor ashamedof the features that they refer to:eyes the color of jade and gold;a smile that lights up her face.She knows she is intelligent.Musically talented.Creative.But she is forgettable.She knows this, too.In a crowded bar she can sit for hours,unnoticed by all except those who need to push up against herand scream past her ear to the bartenderfor another dose of nerves.She laughs about it with her friends,with a self-deprecating shrug and a few funny lines,calling herself the \'silent assassin\'.I\'m so glad I don\'t get bothered all nightby some loser with too much beer and not enough brains.But she watches the girls with tan midriffsand belly button rings.Smiling around a fruity-drink strawas they wrap their tongues around fake wordsand draw in their next would-be suitor.Laughing at just the right timeand managing to look like a whore and an angelall at the sa
CompetitorHonor, sacrifice, dedication.The words sound like a poster for the Marine Corps--\"Be one of the few, the proud.\"My belief in them is unshaken, and has come to be mygreatest strength,the pinnacle of all I aspire to be.I am one of the chosen, andin order to win, I must believe.The heady scent of laurels fills mebefore the starting gun is ever firedand my eyes never waver from the prize;except to size up those who run alongside me.But the pressure of my own desire to winweighs like an millstone around my neck,mixing with failure\'s possibility.The acid forces itself out of metime and time again as I run.I never hear the encouraging cheers of the crowdchange to a pitying murmur, then silenceas I forsake all for the glory of the finish.It would matter nothing if I did hear them--I am certain they will love me onlyas a winner.I cross the final line,turning proudly to accept the praise I so desperately crave--but the road is empty.I wipe the bloody vomit fro