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    <channel>
        <title>ink-circus.net Blog</title>
        <description></description>
        <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
        <lastBuildDate>Wed, 19 Jun 2013 03:58:32 +0100</lastBuildDate>
        <generator>FeedCreator 1.7.2</generator>
        <item>
            <title>Raw Citrus Peels</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[Something smells of raw deals
or flesh rotten citrus,
and somehow, I can’t tell the difference.

The liquid hypodermics,
dissolving through my pores,
the rush, from which, is carrying me home.

Speech impediments are fun
when talking to no one,
pretending to be ham radio feed.

Slogging through the country road,
through where I once belonged,
back to the ruins, a slight alien. ]]></description>
            <author>Tenebrae</author>
            <pubDate>Sat, 19 May 2012 06:37:13 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Mal D’Amour</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[Love can kick you with a savage, vicious blow
Wounding you all the way to your sensitive, fragile core
Leaving a crippling, agonising pain
That you think you can never recover from.

Or it can dust you heavily with gold
Till you glow with the aura of euphoria
Enough to illuminate the skies for a million years
Whilst you doubt that you will ever feel normal again.

Love may drive you far, far away
To either escape it – or get it.

I have fled to the opposite side of the planet
To break love’s steely hold on me.
And whilst I was over there, I discovered a better love
But one I couldn’t keep.

Now that I’m back, I would travel all the way
To the other side again, if beckoned,
To be with that new love.
But I remain here, alone,
With empty arms
But maybe love will come again.
 ]]></description>
            <author>Joey4etc</author>
            <pubDate>Fri, 06 Apr 2012 13:30:02 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>her house</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[she had no key to her home.
she had to crawl in the window every day.
but that’s ok,
at least she had somewhere to stay.

she had no food in the house,
so she couldn’t eat.
but she pretended to dine anyway.

she couldn’t take a bath.
the water was black to punish her.
so she sang a song and pretended to be
a princess.

night came and she was alone.
and fear came with night
and lay down beside her.
she shut her eyes
tight 
and blew herself a kiss.

no blanket to warm her.
no hat to protect.
no puppy to love her.
no closet to hide in.

that’s ok, she thought.
and she gathered her toys -
the broken bottle, 
the nail clippers,
and the empty crayon tin. ]]></description>
            <author>deedlehobbs</author>
            <pubDate>Sun, 16 Sep 2012 16:25:21 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>YOU ARE BEING POISONED!!</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[PLEASE GO AND READ THIS ARTICLE .. WHAT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT OUR WATER AND TOOTHPASTE..

<a href="http://www.greaterthings.com/Lexicon/F/Fluoride.htm" target="_blank"><span class="bb_url">http://www.greaterthings.com/Lexicon/F/Fluoride.htm</span></a>

I've decided to tell as many people the truth about what I have discovered .. people need to WAKE UP to the world we live in today .. please read it .. and I will be sharing more shortly..

this is just the beginning!!



 ]]></description>
            <author>mozarts cat</author>
            <pubDate>Wed, 19 Oct 2011 07:07:29 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>scalping stormshowers</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[ the pitter-patter of ancient rains exploded 
on the windshield

as the shrapnel spread
new life 

but also contained the knowledge 
of their predecessors

explaining examples of epi-genetics 

freeing then freezing 
seeping then sealing 
starched hummingbird humor 
beyond the barrier of angers 
capillaries 

flowing against rages grains
drawing out snowblistered orbs 
surrendering to holograms
of heiroglyphic help 

howling 
underneath the sheets 
of the universe 
aviating 
above the articulated abyss 
of artificial asthma
weakening 
the ability to gather a breathing 
boquet of cancerous beauty 

donating lungfuls of laughs 
echoing off the lips 
of lightgeysers 

infecting scratches 
blinking lashes 

across iris' using 
the bubble of purity to regain insight 
blinded prior to creating scabs of sprouting petals 
dancing sporatically 
through sounds 

strummed on daydreamt smiles 
of static strings catching

notes 
melodies 
chords and 
harmonies 

burrowing within the outskirts 
of fibrotic nerves harnessing energy 

as wisdom approached fruition in the centered cornerstone
leading to the limbic gates hovering on the conveyer belt
taking the scenic route on the keys of the perimeter
playing songs which will only open upon 

giving up an answer written in acapella 
causing thoughts to think 

then etch eyecatching 
euphoric embryo's of Eden's 
everlasting embrace

onto broiled pineseeds 
frosted in morals and arranged
to be wed

on ash wednesday 
in a smoke stained-glass sanctuary
sharing the reception 
with the opaque flames of infinity 

swimming in see-sawaves 
rising and falling 

in shooting 
star 
synchronicity
outside the cavern 
of casted out 
emotions 

crying joyfully

eroding walls encasing heirlooms 
that once dug a tunnel
eventually ending up 
at times threshold 

harboring runaway 
nearsighted hourglass holidays

housing the hermit of heartache 
beating rhythmic repercussions deafening 
cherry glazed eardrums

on the receiving end of sweet nothings 
whispered by the whimsical wind

keeping an ear to the ground 
covered in copper soiled clouds

listening 
for the afterlife calling 
on a prehistoric rotary megaphone

roaming 
through realms 
of righteousness 
reciprocated 
in rations

 ]]></description>
            <author>reflect</author>
            <pubDate>Thu, 22 Nov 2012 10:11:47 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>I Wrote Us (In Free Verse)</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[(I wrote us in free verse over every inch

               of your tattered surface ).


you were the beatific grin

of a kindergartener high off oxygen,

mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,

black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.


(You taught me praying was for the weak

      as I fell for your gypsum nails,

               white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).
               

scribbled flesh tells no love story

but three layers of skin

worn thin along the length of our feverish bones.


(Garden flowers tucked away worms and dirt,
      my ribs hoarded misspellings of my mother's name).


dipping your origami limbs into my ink,
you lost yourself within the dark tangles
of my labyrinth roots. Like a child,

you twisted my path

until you found a home-

staking claim to my clavicle.


(Your mid-morning coffee still rests
       on my kitchen table, stale and smirking.

There's a note on the counter.

        My name is not Heather.) ]]></description>
            <author>Painfully Dull</author>
            <pubDate>Tue, 11 Sep 2012 05:20:25 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Broken Swan (Pirouette)</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[I softly counted the dreams in your e.ye.s
as they fade away
wrap me in your black silhouette
and tell me
You have nothing left
a gold pocket watch in a rosewood box
(a gift of time)
just a moment with you
/is everything/
a make-shift leaf castle in the trees
...sigh...
your world is blown away
emerald jigsaw pieces
r.a.i.n.i.n.g.
on your parade

dance for me
in that tippy toe manner
you do so well
a broken swan
in a city side fountain
while I catch every raindrop
that falls in the street light's
[gaze]
pirouette
a stumbly resemblance
of what could be
just dance for me
while I catch the tear drops
that fall
from
your
cheek

Do you even hear my whispers of sweet nothings?
I can't stop the invisible echo of his voice
the one that reverberates in every bone of your body
trying to wrestle a ghost that I know all too well

when its all said and done
will I end up haunting you?
a lonely walk down a desolate park
and a fountain
full of tears

a pirouette
for
old
time's
sake ]]></description>
            <author>oldsoul</author>
            <pubDate>Fri, 13 Jul 2012 18:24:33 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>of centipede tears</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[~
 

As I sat all high and mighty, upon a cushioned queen’s bed, 
I saw her, crawling underneath the foundation of my revolt, 
my disgust and aggravation, under my outrage of her walking
my sacred floors, the heavenly kingdom I have settled in and made of profuse comfort and caprice. She appeared so minikin 
and sparse out of a dark corner, as if searching for a light, 
a brighter forever, for sustenance, a loved one and a cozy shelter, for her freedom to be and be-come. A simple wish, 
a modest need, a genuine nature of no more nor less. 
And her fear, her inferiority is met with atrocity, 
my unforgiving negligence to her tiny, vulnerable world, 
her whisper of a cry, to her soul the size of a single hair….
and my outrage takes over the shape of a shoe, too heavy, immensely monstrous, cruel and deadly, 
endless to her but of her end!

 

And I recognized her story, where my tiny whisper of a dream, crawls underneath the bed of a god…….

 

 

……… and I’ve never felt smaller

 

 

 







………………… and I never felt more godless











 ]]></description>
            <author>The Coloured Cello</author>
            <pubDate>Wed, 30 Jan 2013 14:38:31 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Ghosts Of Flowers</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[The ghosts of flowers
In her eyes
Her love beating hollow
Her humour still wry

Her cigarette withers
The window clears
"True romance is when
Magic is real"

Lips pursed
She exhales the ghosts
And replants the irises
Of the one she loves most
 ]]></description>
            <author>carlosjackal</author>
            <pubDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 11:10:31 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Comorbid</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[The fast life has left me
spurring the lifeblood out of moments.
I have been picking the bones out of your feeding hand
and making utensils to toy with,
to pick at my poisons with.

However, I've found it most disturbing
that you are more interested 
in the me that is dead.
So with surgical precision I look into myself.
I have been conducting premature autopsies
and killed everything that I process.
I have learned that every personal growth is a cancer
and wisdom has only taught me how to graft them.

And while I have been masturbating hopelessness 
for progressively waning moments,
you have been reading the DSM
and biblical allegories to children
in your best fairy tale voice,
until they sleep unsoundly under
the pretension of infinitely wide eyes,
dwelling under the waterbed of monstrosity,
wet with ether behind the ears.

But still, I heard you when you told me
you want me to leave my skin here
and watch it from above in adoration
before groveling into the landfilled clouds
where I can crawl into my costume.
You will have me
bodybagged within a seraph
to skitter as an insect 
upon the rot of reality,
moving like a missionary,
licking the exit wounds of deviants.


You are the extension cord of the human spine 
connected to nothing, control is not grounded.
You are the reflection that does not follow me.
I do not know who reflects whom 
and I fear us both equally.
We cooperative only in that
we are comorbidities of the truth. ]]></description>
            <author>Baneframe</author>
            <pubDate>Wed, 15 May 2013 04:52:53 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Age</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[Some times they say that I am twelve
Some times they say I’m twenty
I like the number thirty two
But seventeen is plenty.

June 1978
 ]]></description>
            <author>Joey4etc</author>
            <pubDate>Sun, 19 Feb 2012 01:10:17 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>dust dreams</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[I do not remember the first time we spoke,
voice to voice between telephone lines,
but I remember the way it felt to hold you to my ear
while the river lapped at my feet;
I remembered how it felt to have a confidant
that I could tell my secrets to,
and it wouldn't matter if you spilled over.

I do not remember when I first realized
that you were unattainable,
only the struggle I dealt with
as I tried to sort out my wilted emotions,
and hollow out the bottom of my heart,
fill it with memories and keep it
from filling with secret admirers
while I waited for you to finish stripping
yourself of your bad habits 

and our first kiss, fragile unreality.
me, wavering tall in stilt heels,
you, standing train-weary.
the city of Philadelphia smiling
in the way of traffic and nervous gestures;
your hands running through my hair,
me nearly running the car off the road.

we've come so far,
traveled separately, traveled together,
underpasses and train tracks
tears and tears and tears,
and fears;
mostly from me,
mostly from trying to hold myself,
string together my spine
and now,

kisses. healing words
to comfort this late night restlessness;
I am stories spun in cotton candy,
sometimes too sweet,
sometimes you are too busy tasting me
and tracing poems along my bones
to notice how starstruck
I am in your presence. ]]></description>
            <author>Miss Dahlia</author>
            <pubDate>Thu, 13 Sep 2012 18:03:38 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>pretty coins and broken bones</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[<span style="font-size: 10px;">there is a shipwrecked beauty about her
urban decay mouth as she sips her mocha
latte and takes a bite out of her lemon anise
biscotti at the local coffee shop nearby


and even though she's only another vogue icon,
her camera-shy rolling stone smile dies quickly
like the petals of bourbon roses caught in
barbed wire in the outskirts of suburbia


but she's out of control,
a wild thang that can
suck your soul


she paints the world an ugly black
just by closing her pinwheel eyes
because she's never going back
to chasing the crippled sunrise


<b>flashback.</b>
<i>playground swings
seesaws and monkey bars
coke and vanilla ice cream
cotton candy and their very first kiss</i>


but now he’s twenty-four,
his life has passed him by
and he’s stuck in yesterday,
drunk today and
hung-over tomorrow


she's just a gunpowder tea girl
with a penchant for pretty coins,
locked up in a storybook fantasy
of a peppermint summer


and he's merely a ginger schnapps boy
with broken bones, held prisoner
by the afterburn of a cinnamon winter</span> ]]></description>
            <author>ayascribbles</author>
            <pubDate>Wed, 17 Apr 2013 10:13:53 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>check, please</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[The doc says,
as he records services rendered,
that I need to quit drinking 
because the pain in my gut… is my pancreas dying.
And I should quit smoking
because this wheeze isn’t going away.

He says I can look like a million bucks,
for my age,
but if I’m bankrupt inside...
nothing will buy me another day.

Heh. He doesn’t know how indebted I am
to him. to his advice. to life.
I’ve long outstanding loans on living.

Student loans:
I studied for 16 yrs to get a part-time job.

Marriage loans:
I raised a child like she was mine,
for 12 yrs,
and I’ll never see her again.

Home loans:
I bought a house I had to rebuild
just to make it worth the sale price.

Personal loans:
I fell in love with someone
I'll never touch.

and destroyed the love
of the one I could.

So, Doc…
Bankruptcy would be a blessing:
an end… beginning again...

Like this recently purchased
bottle of 151, this fresh pipe,
and these unopened cigarettes.

and every fuckin love song 
I'm free to hear alone.

If I’m lucky, for once,
the debt will be collected
before this bottle’s gone,
this ashtray’s full,
and this bag is empty.

then, maybe... just maybe,
my life insurance won’t be 
just another bad investment.

 ]]></description>
            <author>Ein Soph</author>
            <pubDate>Thu, 13 Jun 2013 19:35:28 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>lost.</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[barefooted on the burning bridge to heaven. 
(only love can save me now) ]]></description>
            <author>descendingdown</author>
            <pubDate>Mon, 03 Dec 2012 07:05:11 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Stalagmite (Paradelle)</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[Edit
"Stalagmite (Paradelle)"
by Jack Freedman on Tuesday, May 15, 2012 at 1:30pm ·

Cataleptic, still and sullen face

Cataleptic, still and sullen face

Frozen to the point of stalagmite tears

Frozen to the point of stalagmite tears

Stalagmites point to frozen tears

Sullen face, cataleptic and still

 

Heartbeat resurrected by your touch

Heartbeat resurrected by your touch

Hold me longer as glows trickle down

Hold me longer as glows trickle down

Down glows trickle, touch and hold

Longer heartbeat resurrected

 

Need the comfort of your love, sincere

Need the comfort of your love, sincere

Desperately seeking affection now

Desperately seeking affection now

Seeking the need of affection

Comfort your love desperately

 

Heartbeat still, tears point to longer comfort

Cataleptic stalagmites now sullen

Sincere, desperately resurrected

Frozen, trickle down

Affection needs glows

Seeking of your love ]]></description>
            <author>GhettoZOmbie</author>
            <pubDate>Tue, 15 May 2012 20:08:37 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Still, I Wake.</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[


I close.

On dreams of open fields, 
an' mother's voice callin'
the sun down o'er the hills.

Whose smolder'd sky yields
heaven's diamonds fallin'
an' others blinkin', still.

Therein fingers trace
a map to ev'ry place.

Eyes closed, I say:
"To where solace waits."
an' open the gates.


...





Yet 'tis here,
still, I wake.

 ]]></description>
            <author>Zabz</author>
            <pubDate>Mon, 03 Jun 2013 01:38:22 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>deeprag</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[dont cry
for me...
i can.
[tina] ]]></description>
            <author>Ramsie</author>
            <pubDate>Wed, 03 Apr 2013 15:20:39 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>[a brief history of falling]</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[one six two seven.
i will never forget those numbers.
and the meaning they held
the way i walked down corridors
and painted pictures in my head of the what if.s
that circled around like literary tornados.
or the way i sat in that room.
waiting.

the way i became someone else's.


and the memories. they seem to be
distant films. in foreign language. 
all i see are actions.
body language when my fingers ran-
down your back.
eyes- god those eyes.
when words
slipped between lips/ saying so much in three words.
and we understood where cliches came from.
because you. could always speak
my favorite colors- 
the way you used to paint me
on your paper heart
with words
that used to break me- now
I read them like silent film

because breaking should be done in silence.
that is how i explain it to myself- when i fall apart in letters
that make up these poems of self pity.

so i feed myself these lines
and pretend that today- it's a chance
to change.
but I still lie to them
almost as much as I lie to myself
and I drink.

and
between
the ice in my glass
and the taste on my lips.
I am just trying to hide the taste
of you.

all over again. ]]></description>
            <author>Six-Out</author>
            <pubDate>Tue, 10 Jul 2012 03:17:05 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>do not feed the peacock</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[



beauty is futile
     when ego is built beneath
          ornamental wings





 ]]></description>
            <author>admin</author>
            <pubDate>Fri, 24 Feb 2012 12:12:35 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>visiting myself</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[the glass patio door reflects
the small world that I live in,
and thereby doubles it.

when a bird flies by,
there are two birds.
the tree that stands a few
feet away has a twin within.

the birds sing their happiness.
the trees extend their arms
in prayers to the sacred sky.

if I could step into the glass
and visit the other me,
I would not be alone

always.

 ]]></description>
            <author>JohnFeddeler</author>
            <pubDate>Thu, 04 Oct 2012 22:50:00 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Fragments</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[Fragments,
A Screaming Vision,
stopped abruptly.
Blank stares.
Pale face,
Reflected in a pool of blood.
Broken glass shines like glitter
sprinkled on a lush red stillness.
Starry eyes,
so deep with color,
her gaze fixed
towards the doorway. ]]></description>
            <author>Darkskies</author>
            <pubDate>Fri, 09 Mar 2012 02:06:54 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Parlor Tricks</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[
That suffocated song.
That enigmatic chorea. 
That sleeping suffering.
That is what you see 
when you frame me on your wall
and remember the killing of time.

Droplets on a wooden woman.
A skin at your feet, 
brought by the terror 
of your insides. 

Do I sound unknown to you?
Someone must know me 
on a distant shore.

Better than you.

And all around you, 
the fog falls. 
Supernatural and Styx.
I wanted to be the death of you.
That sparkle drowned. 
That tune muted.
That void for a miracle. 


  ]]></description>
            <author>Gregorian</author>
            <pubDate>Mon, 31 Dec 2012 03:10:24 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>forfeit.</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[haggard
heart.

a skeleton
of the
oncewas.

sublime
demise.

internally
inquiring
mind.

where i
abandon
you..

every time. ]]></description>
            <author>Evil</author>
            <pubDate>Thu, 03 Jan 2013 04:24:43 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
        <item>
            <title>Mirage Me</title>
            <link>http://ink-circus.net</link>
            <description><![CDATA[Wish I may. 
As purple uncovers my dream, 
I glow and shine like sunbeams,
even as I cry, and gather extreme
matters. I wish I felt more,
like I do in my schemes.
 
Rain! Forget me not. 
I've crimsoned hot. 
And high. I sent the rain 
where I wanted. 
See how strange I can be? 

A mirage.
But then, my rain falls 
on bridges, and art comes to life. 
It makes me suitable for touch.

And I do not have enough of you. 
You fall on me, free. 
I wish I felt I was.
 ]]></description>
            <author>crystalshots</author>
            <pubDate>Sat, 05 Jan 2013 20:17:39 +0100</pubDate>
        </item>
    </channel>
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