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When the fire first started,
I ignored the sparks and smoke.
But as I grew,
I began to burn.
Hands exploring myself,
a new sensation at my fingertips.
I used to feel guilty,
like ******* was a sin.
But I don't feel that way now,
as whimpers fill the room,
hitched pretty breathing,
little whines and sighs.
I think I was created for this,
and God knew that the flames would lap at my body,
made me to burn and build and crescendo.
So I don't feel guilty anymore,
and I guess,
I never should have.
(this might be the most scandalous pome i've ever written.
time slows,
thick and sweet
honey slowing my veins,
lulling me.
I wake up only to fall asleep,
my classes are falling behind,
but I can't bring myself to care,
it all feels so distant...
that tastes of heartache?
That feels like longing?
Is it you?
Or is it the ghost I never quite stopped loving?
Lay with me in the rain,
  Walk with me in the twilight,
  Hold me in the dark,
  Sing to me from beside the fire.
       You glow on the fading sunlight of an autumn day,
                                                                The leaves falling,
                                       And so are you,
Dying
i love you still
I dreamed you kissed me
That you loved me enough
To break it
And kiss me.
What a selfish dream to have...
Loving, is easy.
It’s the aching.
The waiting.
The breaking.
That’s what tears you apart and tells you,
Love is hard.
She always smiles like she’s about to cry,
Looking at me,
As though she’s expecting a goodbye.
I’m not leaving,
But I can’t stay too close.
For I’m afraid to live,
But more afraid to die.
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