

a straw and a weary camelmy heart is b r e a k i n g bogged with growing rot and this ache, ripping ache tell me i'm sorry because i'm so sorry i really am.a straw and a weary camel
scars won't fade and blood won't clot because i've given up trying to make it stop. i yammer out complaints instead cry stupid tears in my bed at one o'clock in the morning.
this was r e v e n g e but not on you i was just angry i'm always just angry and now i'd be down on two hands and two knees, like the dusty &nbs


all there is.Sprawled on your floor, eyes To the ceiling and I miss you. My reflection on a black screen, but I see you in me, keeping this lonely one company now. If I were to write a story about a boy And a girl, it wouldnt be about us. No,all there is.
this a lamp and its bulb; without you I am fragile and dark and you are alone and filled with shadow. Its a pencil and the eraser, one Fills the paper, the other corrects the mistakes.
You are the scarf on a windy morning and the one good thing in a day of wrong. The very last piece in this difficult puzzle a


a glove on the wrong handthis is an android, stripped to screws and springs, torn to mechanical bitsa glove on the wrong hand
all in the name of envious curiosity and curious envy.
myself is the disguising personality like a wrong-handed glove that no longer fits.
in discomfort, and the glove continues to torment me.
continuously smothered in a multihued landscape painting deceivingly named;
"monochrome"


the veili wish there were pills that could put me to sleepthe veil
for days.
why you ask? well, you silly child,
so i can do this:
so i can forget your face (only a sorry façade)
so i can forget the sound of your voice
Puppet6:32

your walls look too thinIt's December and I don't know which is worse- the fact that I can still feel your gasping fingers, pulling through the tangles of my mermaid hair or that my clock still shows eleven-eleven andyour walls look too thin
I am tired of wishing
-
It's the week when the trees regret not wearing mittens, the lines in a permanent wrinkle on my mother's forehead and Noah's Ark is being recreated in every fucking hallway It's the time when I miss picking myself up again and again for you
-
It's your birthday and I forgot. I'm cross-legged and crumpled
--
And that was all without a single drop of rum XD
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I reject your "pop culture" and substitute it with my own.
Je suis le loup né de Mort et l'Amour.
--
When a writer talks about their work, they're talking about a love affair.
--
I reject your "pop culture" and substitute it with my own.
Je suis le loup né de Mort et l'Amour.
xo!
--
an antique arms and armor expert
--
"My hand thinks I'm an artist, but my heart knows i'm a poet." -Bright Eyes
--
When a writer talks about their work, they're talking about a love affair.
--
It's only after we've lost everything, that we're free to do anything
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