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Makiya Sep 2013
i am comforted in my own. just like ice melts, only not so
warm, just warm     enough. lay like a leaf in the sun, holding up lace so that
when i lower it the pattern will be burned into my cheeks, intricate enough
so that people will have to lean inclose
to see

i am ever-changing, like forever-ever, like no mona lisa because
'bullets pass through me and I keep moooooooving'
only the bullets never reach me - i know i'm dreaming when i'm
dreaming.
Makiya Sep 2013
maybe you can feel me,               the clunk
in my chest                                    in yours

the drop                                    
                                                       in your
                                                        diaphragm

maybe you can see it,                   seeing
my eyes open as open                  your
                                      ­                 eyes
                                                

maybe you can hear it,                is
the hum inside my                       from your
                                                       mouth


maybe you can think me            as I
                                                       think
  ­                                                     you
to my best friend, whom I miss.
Makiya Aug 2013
pale
speech
Makiya Jul 2013
the floor is covered in ash, we trudge
through to the kitchen to pour ourselves some coffee,
then to the bedroom to lay in the empty space there, left

our hands are never clean, our feet are always cold and
we don't have enough sense to cover them.

heavy faces, giving off sawdust smiles and
big red-marked cheeks from leaning too ******* other people.
we are craning over one another, reaching past one another, never holding
eye-contact

it's the emptiness left
from the previous emptiness
here, it's

awful here,
it's awful
here.
When someone you love dies, for awhile, so do you.
Makiya Jul 2013
guts feel as if they're being pulled through
the world's smallest needle's eye, threading
me into this. my tongue, still sore from this morning's
scalding coffee, I am training it to lay still.
small things begin to grow, reminiscent of
swelling waves, they will crash upon my head.
arms up, kissing my own chest, I do not offer
much protection for myself or
anyone, for that matter.
Makiya Jun 2013
my love is in this place;
runs through it like
blushed
cheeks,

and the wind carries our laughter.
Makiya Jun 2013
it helps to cradle your own, in the crook of your elbow like
a catch in the throat, like pulling off a sweater's static cling and
stripping down to nothing but a a set of teeth for eating and
a set of eyes for tearing up when you feel human enough
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