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cynthia-cliff
cynthia-cliff
(An account for the darker poetry)
Every morning is the same question: "Why do I wake up?" And every time, it's harder to answer. Every day I march to war to fight the demons that blur my world, but the only weapon I have is a fake smile. Every afternoon I try to forget that day: the cold tiled floor cradling me as I kissed a bottle of pills. Every evening I think of my parent's relief of packing my things and never spending another penny on a rotten child Every heart beat that runs in my thing throat is nothing but a reminder of worthlessness. Every tear is a scream - it reverberates in an aching head. Every minute, I ask myself questions I don't know that answer to. Why do I try anymore?
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Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
"Every Morning is the Same Question"
What a dark time it's been, no dreams or desires to chase after. This hollowness has been long and hard, but I don't feel it anymore when I'm with you. You make me forget the lost hours, the blank darkness, the cold silence. I no longer wake because I must, but merely because I must see you. You may never know that Your laugh makes me smile Your smile keeps me warm Your touch drives me crazy Your eyes hold me tight Your arms house me. You may never know; that's okay - I'm the quiet type
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Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
You May Never Know
Every soft stroke of Your fingers on my pale skin Makes my heart crazy
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Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Your Fingers
So long, I've sung a solo so lonely -- An art already ailing of any amour -- Verses varying vibes of vague luridness -- Every note echoes a screech; erases all reason. My mortality is no longer mine: Enemies forever ensconce in every expectation of .
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Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
Solo