How Do I Keep Writing

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How do I keep writing

When I’m running out of ink

You distract me with your kisses

Damn woman, let a man think

I’ll be with you momentarily

Go wait nakedly on the bed

Let me craft my words

I need to empty what’s in my head

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Poseur Punks Stealing My Traditions

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Poseur punks stealing my traditions

Though they never earned the right

You cannot reappropriate a feeling

They’ve never been adrift under a starry night

These kids’ empty hearts & endless expectations

I left the sweat of my brow upon the sea

With too many of my nights away from home

In an entitled world; duty means a lot to me

islands far off in the chain

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boat drinks to ease the pain
faded footprints in the sand
wondering what to understand
the wrong ones seem to fall
emptying into life’s easy stall
try to wipe away transgression
avoid the depths of depression
find something good and well
broken bottles in that old hotel
whispers in a decadent night
clothes falling within my sight
my soul feels damaged & scraped
walking away, only to escape

Chloe Thurlow

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“Eating the peach is a meditation. Your mind empties of all the must dos and should have dones. You are pure being. Your lover’s tongue is the key that turns the lock that opens the pleasure box. Life has few perfect moments; moments of cunnilingus score the highest on the sex blissometer.”
― Chloe Thurlow, Katie in Love

Empty Streets Late After Dark

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Empty streets late after dark

Rain tries to wash away transgression

The anonymous walk back on home

Another night’s bout of depression

Hidden moments of solitude

Lonely stretches of cold concrete

Distant lights seem to fade away

Damp steps along an unknown street

There once was a place to go

Reasons for each & every step

Though all that was lost long ago

Into my bottle of cheap wine I wept

Suburban queens & their diamond rings

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Suburban queens & their diamond rings

Thinking sparkling possessions are theirs

The object of so many men’s thoughts

Lustful fantasies in each of their stares

Primped, dolled & dressed to the nines

These bodies merely trophy wives to be stressed

They hold no special value for society

Beyond the contents under their dress

 

A Broken Bottle Of Scotch & An Empty Stripper

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A broken bottle of scotch & an empty stripper

Checking my watch for the time to set sail

Three bloody sheets & all the usual drivel

Keeping always one eye on the day’s mail

Unsavory characters gathered around my table

I can’t walk straight, but my heart goes out to thee

Smoke & bar light reveal a familiar feeling

Failure felt all those years trying to break free

Hiding behind myself, not wanting to attract

Fingernail scrapes will lead to further attention

I leave this room in no condition to go

Held hostage by all the words you felt obligated to mention

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