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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Seven is a nice number and many things are associated with this number, I hope you can see what "Seven" is about.

Submitted: April 09, 2017

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Submitted: April 09, 2017






Things strewn about

some glimmering

others rusting away.

But looking around all you see

Is the fact that you want more than all of the seven seas.

Your collection spans for miles

and all can see just how hungry

your eyes can be.



Power might not have been what slayed ancient kings,

But their seven course meals might have been.

The constant ravishing on flesh slaved away, made by slaves.

The constant sounds of choking as they ate away.

Their bellies filled to the brim,

as clothes were stretched beyond recognition.

And as the fat lady sang it was over, the meal done.

Gula achieved, and the gate of the third has been opened up for another one.



Wanting to go another round,

as the sheets come off and the fee is paid.

Walking around brings you to yet another.

Which is fine as seeing the hotel room was booked for the night.

The sheets you are under for the seventh time today

getting another fix for your addiction,

addiction to skin.



Green-eyes is your secondary eye color,

as you always see things that you’d wish you had.

Sticky fingers some would call you

as they noticed missing possessions all around.

As some would call you Green Thumbed at your

ability to grow the worst out of people.



Waiting too long and now even that is gone.

Time waits for no man so why did you wait for one.

Was it the fact that you couldn’t just move on,

or where you too lazy to go out and live.

Are you lethargic, weak, and lost?

Or maybe it’s this generation having the trait of faineance.

Either way you were too slow and waited for way too long.



Your uproar congests your thinking,

as you hear pleas of explaining.

But all of that rains down as your anger, and you

become the eye of a storm.

It rained a warm red that night,

As the walls were repainted a bit abstractly

and the carpet got a couple more permanent stains.

Your outburst of rage has killed another

and realize you’ll be thrown a Styx.



Reeking of hubris at everything you do

you’re like a lion but without the teeth and claws.

Vanity runs through your veins

as arrogance runs through your brain.

Confidence may be key, but yours has warped

into something unknown.

No lock will you ever fit into

seeing as none will ever be fit you.




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