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Like A Box Of Chocolates
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Like A Box of Chocolates: A Collection of Poetry
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Sent you an e-mail

Thank you for your interest Christine, I have sent you a copy in an e-mail.
Hope you enjoy the book.

Giveaway for the poetry book "Like A Box of Chocolates"-
http://jbienvenue.webs.com/apps/blog/...

Here's what I've done in efforts to appeal to the poetry market on Amazon:
-Fixed up the book's description
-Added current and popular keywords
-Changed the Kindle ebook categories the book in
-Made more connections to the types of poetry as well as who the poetry is most like rather than direct poetry fans.
It's not much but I'm a believer in a little goes a long way. I hope to run a promotion soon to see if I can get the book off the ground, out of the clouds or wherever it has ended up and in the hands out poetry fans.

I thought I would resurrect my thread for my third book, Like A Box of Chocolates. While it's been a long time and I've written nine more books since I feel like this book has become lost in translation and I want to liven it up by giving it some new life and attention.
I will be using this thread to post some of the poems in the book as well as some of the ideas and inspiration behind them. I hope you enjoy!

Battling against time as it sits at a stand still
The overwhelming rush of thoughts uncharted
Sharpe is the blade, keen and made to kill
It takes precision to make one feel outsmarted
The structure is in the tips as it brushes against skin
Until it infiltrates like a soldier behind enemy lines Tempting is the feeling to go forth with sin
Taking out and piercing into whatever it finds
Order must be restored and this is one of the choices Dangling freedom in front of the beheld eyes
Listen to the brain-waves, not the inner voices
The image is an illusion, it’s the blades disguise
The longer contemplated the more the idea worsens
So that it becomes more than a means of escape
Like the hope of heaven awaiting with 1,000 virgins
If the Razorblades are love then Revolution is rape
This is not only one of my favorite poems within the book but also one of my favorite poems I've ever written. There are a few interpretations of what the poem is about but I suppose it depends on the individual. I was inspired to write this after hearing a story about someone who was in a dark place and depressed. They of course got the help they needed but it neverthe less inspired me to write this what-if type of poem. It could be considered controversial in its own way but again, it depends on the individual.
What you have is a beautiful poem that means to get you thinking of what's behind the words.

Tick,
A man sits still in his chair
Tock,
A bird sits perched on a branch
Tick,
The man hears nothing and is unaware
Tock,
The bird glares, seemingly in a trance
Tick,
Suddenly the man hears all the sounds
Tock,
Loudly, the bird caws every thirty seconds
Tick,
The volume fills the room in surround
Tock,
The bird cawing like a broken record
Tick,
The man now suddenly hears a rapping
Tock,
The bird flies to the window sill
Tick,
He now hears a quiet gentle tapping
Tock,
Again the bird sits perched and still
Tick,
Maddened, the man screams in a fright
Tock,
The bird seems amused by his proclamation
Silence......
The bird flies away satisfied causing devastation Nevermore.....
Clock stops upon the strike of midnight
The poem pays homage to Edgar Allan Poe's, "The Raven". I decided to go with a more unconventional style of poetry by using the tick-tock words after every line to add emphasis to the clock and to demonstrate how the man in the poem is growing more infuriated by it along with the increasing madness that the raven is driving him to.

To be considerate of others
Is for the way of the wise
There’s more fighters than lovers
Leaving us with blackened eyes
They give without taking
Ask without permission
Their actions they are faking
Yet there’s no lining of suspicion
If only the brain burned
Upon thinking too much
Maybe then they’d be concerned
Of others feelings and such
But they don’t and it’s a joke
Only thinking of themselves
The mind is but a broken yolk
Your like dust on a shelf
Collected and forgotten
Looked upon from time to time
It’s as if your aura is rotten
It’s as if you’ve committed a crime
But they are in the wrong
Needing a check back into reality
Perhaps their intentions all along
Pushing us with brutal mentality



Imagine slaughtered women, London 1888
Hey! Don’t be mad at me I’m just telling the facts
Brutally murdered by a knife so sharp and straight
God only knows by how many gruesome hacks
Why any of it was done to this day is a mystery
But disturbance and immorality would be a good guess
Nonetheless the tale has found it’s place in history
Turning innocence into a horrid bloody mess
What was going through the head of this man
Clearly no psychologist could ever dare depict
Obviously he had quite a twisted plan
He had issues in the brain brick wall thick
With the streets now bloody, things will never be the same
And all that was will no longer remain
Victims we don’t but we know the murderer’s name
It was his killer instinct that left the biggest stain

I walk slowly through the desert to a humid breeze
With the heat beating down bringing me to my knees
No horse and little water with sand for miles
All alone stranded this isn’t a desert isle
Suddenly I hear a sharp whistling sound
Aeolus and Amun have become earth bound
They circle the area that I must walk through
It’s amassed so much I no longer see the sky so blue
The wind picks up and carries the sand
Nothing worst then flying pebbles of land
Not being able to see what’s ahead
Even though it’s the same and I’m as good as dead
I’m in a tempest yet there’s no rainfall
No one around and no one to call
Psamathe has indeed made herself known
A sandstorm has begun and the effects are being shown

Defining sickness
Putrid livid dreams
Hate is a key witness
Spuing fluids upon the screams
Tainted souls filled black
Rising fumes of anguish
There is no looking back
Soon the purity will vanquish
Garbage filled words
The mouth is a dirty alleyway
Eating the pain that burns
A cat is still a cat even stray
Scars are constant enemies
Embedded within the skin
Madness tattooed memories
Like shards of glass in a bin
Corruption is to dishonesty
As bacteria is to griminess
Clearly there can hardly be
A definition of why this is
A badly blemished brain
Is but a corroded cerebral
The endless shots of pain
Are the filth that seep through
I am looking for 6 people to read and review my book,Like A Box Of Chocolates It's only 50 pages so it's a fairly quick read. I'm giveaway away free PDF copies to the first six people who comment requesting for a copy. You will have a week to read the book though it will probably take you less than that to read it.
If you could leave your review on Goodreads and Amazon it would be much appreciated.
If you are interested in reading and reviewing it please leave your e-mail in a comment below and I will send you a copy.
Thanks,
Justin