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A clock ticks time,
A heart beats fast.
Her mouth whisper spells,
she couldn't cast.
The lies lie down,
beneath her lips.
Loving a man,
for his blood.
They were cursed,
under the full moon.
Blood for blood,
death in love.
For when I remember I used to write poetry based on fantasy.  This one tells a love tale between a cursed witch (her) and a grim reaper (his) .

ㅡn.s
 Mar 2018 Tufayl Myburgh
Dennis
I get trapped
By ropes braided with scales
And hiss it whispers
"Love"

Like the venom it bites me with
Makes me hallucinate.

Now I'm with you in a room
I'm not sure if I'm the interrogator
When I ask these questions.
You say it depends on the confidence you carry
I say my confidence vanished with your "no".
You say fine then the interrogation is over.

Fleeting are feelings of euphoria
Come in a fleet of reality.
Fire the pessimism
Oh! We got a hit!
Now he feels uncertainty
Insecurity
Trapped

In a room with you and I enjoy it
Five minutes is all I need to feel euphoria
Come in with a fleet of reality
Fire the pessimism
Oh!  It hurts even more now,

I'm in a room with you and I enjoy it.
Just know...
He’s had lives & loves before you
Remember that when the bricklayer or the mechanic
Asks for your hand
You’ll receive one flower
Instead of a dozen roses
Picked on his way home
Handwritten notes in your shoes
Instead of Hallmark greetings
Elaborate dinners cooked by him
Where he said he’d clean
Afterwards
But didn’t
Spur of the moment
Road trips
Instead of planned vacations
The opening of windows
For the springtime thunderstorms
Listening to the beat of his heart
While the rain drops
Drip
Drip
I
N
T
O
The drain
He’ll write you with jazz playing
Wine in his bottle
Records in his head
Absorbing you into his world
And if he dies before you
And you bury him
And you mourn over him
Lasting for years
Remember his flower
His notes written just for you
And if you see his ghost
Haunting you
Then the Poet
Has fallen forever for
...You...
 Feb 2018 Tufayl Myburgh
Cana
If every poet who wrote a love ballad
Sought out another.
Then my friends.
We would have no lonely hearts.
No anxious stomachs.
No panicked pulses.
"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.
When you call a suicide prevention hotline, they will often ask you to describe to them 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste to help ease anxiety. I hope this poem helps someone struggling to look forward, because believe me, it does get better.
 Jan 2018 Tufayl Myburgh
Poetic T
I'm a trapeze artist of  word
             flying through sentences,



But
           then I
                        fell
                             and my words
didn't balance so well.
We
all
falter
on
our
meaning.

We just have to realize,
           that were cant balance
       all the time, sometimes words fail..
 Nov 2017 Tufayl Myburgh
Lily
your hand runs up my thigh
i'm flushed
your hand feels under my shirt
i'm counting the seconds in my head
you unclasp my bra
i'm enveloped by goosebumps
you notice i'm nervous
i'm beyond nervous
you tell me everything's ok
i'm alone
you pick my cherry
i get nothing in return
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