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"Talk to me
in poetry"
he said,
so I whispered
nothingness
through the quiet cold air
breathless
for he was my silent prayer
and I
just a pattern
in the chaos
I'm afraid that there's
nothing left.
I'm afraid that meaning
is surely fading —
Dulled by absence.
A slow burning ember,
That was once an inferno.
This stage —
Once brimming with joy,
Holds now only silhouettes,
Ghosts.
Tender echoes.
Love letters returned,
Unread.
Counterfeit,
Plagiarised —
Empty.
This is how the world ends.
Without you.
If I held out my hand
would you take it ?
it's warmth ready to permeate your soul
but what would it tell you of me ?
the scar on my finger
the wrinkling skin
the crooked pinkie
the gnarl on my thumb
stories to be told
if you would only take hold.
 Dec 2014 AnActualToaster
holyoak
&
 Dec 2014 AnActualToaster
holyoak
&
since you've been gone
i've written a few poems 
& not a single one 
actually says what i want
because i want to say
i miss you
& i want to say
i need you
& i want to say
come back to me 
& you left the door wide open
i thought it was a sign 
i thought it was some poetic way
of saying you'd walk back in
but now i realize 
you just didn't care enough to shut it
& now i feel a draft
a small cold wind 
whispering
"get up & change some things
she left you for a reason"

& now i come to find 
that there were never enough ampersands
to keep you & i together

[holyoak]
I can only write
    in
      the
         dark
(Is that odd?)
I'd like to just say a thank you to a lot of people on HP

You've all made me feel so welcome, I never really thought I could write well but I still did because it was from my heart, but I have gotten some incredible feedback.

You are all amazing, such talented writers and it is such a pleasure to read your work let alone have you comment on mine. So once again a massive thank you to all at HP :)
'Wander',
                        a word for
Shadows                        like myself
~Shakespeare
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