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the thought of never writing again has crossed my mind. why bother putting down on paper feelings i wish to forget. sensations i would prefer never reviving. i often strangle the ink out of my pens. rip the feathers out of my quills. as if their destruction would be enough to set me free from this burden. then the agony of asphyxiation pulls the breath out of my lungs. throws me naked before a ****** of famine crows.
I let there be affection to click with someone known,
I get it that otherwise,that heart can tick on its own
Whenever you are alone, do you ever stop and think of me,
That when we are miles apart, is it me that in your arms you want me to be?
My heart hurts a little more and more when you are gone,
That when you are gone, my heart beats to the sound of your tone.
When you are gone, it's like time slows down,
That I really don't want to get out of town.
All I really want to do is frown.
That is only with you I feel as if I am wearing a crown.
The point is that whenever your gone, it hurts my heart and soul to be alone.
the curve of your lips

with the shiver of your touch

make me wish you cared
Imagine with me if you will
Not being able to imagine at all.
Trying but unable to tell
Why it is you feel so small.
It's hard to feel anything anymore
Voices shouting censorship and paranoia tumble over the walls of their abode and still like a broken record, refuse to admit their own shortcomings.
To never think of death, of guilt, of pain
They run ashamed and break the bridges that have crossed the empty pit, their concrete blown away, and why?
The roads of healthy living are martyred
The smiles of love are blotted out for the dark recesses privy to the wretches in their holes hiding from insight.
Imagine with me if you will, but Don't pretend it's not actually happening.
my heart is a half-painted wall

i said that i would finish it for her

they all say that love can conquer all

so why do i bawl at this unpainted wall?
an insanely old poem from an odd time
i'm five years old
& i wait
for you to
look at my drawing
and compliment me.
. . .
i'm ten years old
& i wait
for you to
watch me while i play
and protect me.
. . .
i'm fifteen years old
& i wait
for you to
tell me it's ok
and comfort me.
. . .
i'm twenty years old
& i wait
for you to
realize i've lost my way
and notice me.
. . .
i'm twenty five years old
& i wait
for you to
take a few minutes
and call me.
- - -
it's the eleventh hour
& i'm still waiting
for you
maybe it's because
i changed my name
that i no longer
feel like a child.

i miss the way
you called me mija
though i'll never
admit it.

is it too late
to change it back?
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