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[New Message]
It reads,
Great, more trouble,
All I need.

Opening the inbox,
What could it really be?
Please not another,
"PARIS, a sight to see!"

I have had enough of spam,
So, please be some news,
And not a "favourite show" quiz,
I'm not obliged to choose.

A message from my boss?
No, he's already out of town,
A notice from the tailor?
No, she can't've done the gown.

Well, what is it?
Why won't it load?
Is it a virus?
Or some kind of code?

Well, I give up,
That is it,
I'll check it later,
For now, I quit.
My love for you flows like a river
Than my heart seems to quiver
I have no clue
If this may be true
But i know for a fact
This is not an act
My first try
A paper crown
And a heart made of glass
A tattered gown
And her kingdom of ash
She walks alone
She can never look back

The story of a queen
Whose castle has fallen to the sea

She'll make it out
But she's never the same
She's lookin' down
At the scars that remain
But you hold your ground
Though your kingdoms in flames

She's looking out
From the war that's inside
She's screaming out
'Cause no one survived
But when you're all alone
You wait and you hide

When all she needs, and all she wants
When all she finds
When all she is, and ever was
Is compromised
'Cause there's no one to love you
When you build your walls too high

And there's no one to love you
When you trapt yourself inside
Paper Crown  - Alec Benjamin
Ode
You clutch a dazzling pink rose
In front of the Spanish Steps.
The last of the day, bartered
For a bag of M&Ms.
No money changes hands.
No promises kept.
No way to go but headlong
Into the crowds.
Tramping on tourists, staring at horses,
Thinking Poesy past the Keats House,
Piazza di Spagna 26.
Life mask, death mask.
Walls of poetical works bound
In shiny green leather.
Romanticism dies on the short, striped bed,
A sleigh ride to the Elysian Fields.
Awake to sweet unrest.
Here is my ode
To a rose not fading unto death.
Bright colors of the Steps.
No struggle for a breath.
John Keats is regarded by many as England's finest Romantic poet. He is most famous for his "Ode to a Nightingale." He moved from England to Rome in seriously ill health, thinking the southern climate would be good for his tuberculosis. He lived only a short time in a house immediately next to the Spanish Steps, one of the main tourist stops in Rome. Keats died there when he was 25. His house is now an excellent museum on his life and the life of Lord Byron, another Romantic who also died quite young.
I grew up in the country
Where greens and blues reign supreme
Where the stars shine bright at night
And the air smells like the air

I grew up in the country
Where your friends are really friends
Where animals run amok
And I relish the warm sun

Now I live in the city
Where it's grey as far as sight
Where the sky is just a haze
And now I cant even breathe

Now I live in the city
Where most your friends are strangers
Where horns and smoke rule the road
And I lock myself at home

I want to go home
Where the grass touches the sky
Where the clouds are white
And I can take a deep breath

I want to go home
Where I can trust peers freely
Where I can hear myself think
And I be free once more
I think about leaving
A lot more than I should
I know I love you so much
That’d it’d break my heart
If only I could stay
But three more months
Is my limit
And I feel like
I’ve started counting down days
I enjoy being with you
But there’s more flaws than I can handle
And I know we’d have tough times
But
I didn’t know I’d be alone though them
Because when I need you most you seem to become a blank screen
A video game is all you see
And you say you love me but honestly I don’t know what you mean
You show it when it’s meant to but do you ever want to text me
I love you ?
Because the conversation only starts if I talk
Otherwise it’d be silence and nothing more
And maybe I’m looking at this wrong maybe it’s my anxiety and I’m staring at a mirror that only shows my flaws
I’m reading the book backwards
And knew the ending from the start
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