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Sometimes a haiku
Has just enough of the sounds
To tell a story.
I tried to write a-
But then ran out of room, So-
I let my words play.
...
I don't understand myself.
And for once,
I think that's ok.
Because I love you, and you love me, and that's enough.
It is a unique form of self torture
To visit a place you once called home
And to be met with only the unknown.


This was my home.
I don't want to say goodbye again.
Happy holidays everyone.
When all there is left to do is work, Work.
Tbh this piece is my procrastination which I find hysterically ironic.
I'm scared of the night,
The end of the day, the life, the light.
I know I should revel in its beauty, the cloudless star-lit sky,
River-lakes lit with eerie phantasms,
Mist a cool kiss against my throat.
Instead I run, terrified, into light so bright it blinds and tears away every feeling, until fear itself burns brighter than the sun in the day.
-
What would the child say?
-
To the monster
that's scared of the dark?
Titled: The Monster Under The Bed
They ask us to write a simple string of words and not to sing a song,
Chosen few, left struggling silent, a sense of agony prolonged,
A flickering flame to steal away the air and take inturn my soul unburned;
left bereft of spoken thought,
My fingers for me whisper fiercely,
Release in pain silent words wrought.
Pool girls, chocolate swirls,
A summer left behind,
Closed books, open chapters,
Alone, but for the world.
We have such a strange friendship,
You and I,
With You, knowing everything about me,
And Me,
struggling to find the right words to say hello.

— The End —