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Shanijua Sep 2020
I crave to be gazed at during sunrise
with fingers tracing the edges of my frame.
Brown eyes should reflect the yearning present in mine
and be colored with the eagerness of being forever close.
The peonise outside of our window would sway in the calm breeze
that enclosed our home, brushing against each brick.
We would bask in the warmth of our sheets
and inhale the air that was contaminated with each song of love that we breathed.
There would only be you and I, eternally bathing in the scent of being in love.
Shanijua May 2020
I wake up and see you.
I go to sleep. And see you.
I pick up my phone and see you.

I see - salty water marks on my pillows,
a heaving chest expanding and contracting with a tremble, and
I see a gray haze covering the surfaces I no longer wish to touch.
I see somber flowers and I see candles that struggle to give off light even in the dullest of days.

I see until the pain creeps back in and reclaims my clear eyes once again.
Shanijua Jun 2019
Alas, the house is quiet.
A woman whom can not be particularly described as "dainty" but aged by a trying life has succumbed to sleep within her corner of the bricked home.
The home's walls made of plaster start their creaking, accompanied by a soft roar sounding from the a/c that can never stay fixed for more than a few months at a time.
Darkness overtakes each room one by one until the home is one big shadow of black in itself.
Shadows dance along four walls covered in an ugly neutral green that yearns to haunt memories as long as one shall live.
They grow and grow as the night lingers on, taking on various forms until they retire for the rest of the night.  
The cold sends its piercing scent of metal to and fro, taking up as much oxygen as possible.
But, alas.
A faint blue makes its appearance through a 5 by 3 window in the north wall, expanding until it illuminates my cold room, snatching the evil shadows along with it.
Shanijua Jul 2018
A five by eight enclosure is too quiet and dainty, perfect for thinking. Awful just awful.

Fiberglass is too cold to be cozy and air doesn't circulate better when standing up.

White water doesn't have a grip when it falls at a rapid speed and the drops continue to fall a victim to gravity without regard.

Sitting there, skin to the cold cold bottom feels so lonely, sending emptiness back and forth and up only to send itself back down to it's home. It's honestly dreadful..

There's nothing to distract from the burning.. No white noise to quiet the mental rumblings..

Eyes closed, breath stalled, fingers trembling, chilling thoughts at bay, finally engulfed.

I took a bath today.
Taking those small steps to get better are very important.
Shanijua Jul 2018
Who is this girl wearing my clothes? Who was this girl lying in my bed just a second ago? Surely she isn't the same girl who enjoys sneaking out to study the stars on a warm summer night, so what was she doing here? Who is this girl, walking in my ratty Vans?
Her eyes drooped from late nights of over thinking, making her age about ten years.
Look at her, she stood as if her legs would give out at any moment.  
Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before she looked away from embarrassment. She shouldn't be embarrassed.. She just needed a good nights rest and a nice meal for sure..  As I reached out to touch the ghostly girl, to let her know that everything was okay, my hands slid down the slick, cold glass that made up my dresser's mirror.
A morning routine.
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