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Summer Jan 2016
boys ******* on sunflowers,
the sky turns gray
there is a light and
it went out
The day you walked away.
the sad sads
are creeping up on me again
i can hear it in my voice when I speak.
and I'm scared to be alone again.
it makes me lose sleep.
when the sun goes down,
I come up,
to start anew,
hoping you are nowhere near.
and if you see me you'll stay away.
and I promise not to smile near you again.
do not come near my bed,
I will find sleep in rose gardens,
they are your favorite flower
And
you cannot
Find it in your heart to **** on them.
the thorns will cut my body
and I will bleed all over
but as long as you
do not make me ***** again
the pain will not be felt anymore.
forever to sleep in a bed of rose,
never to feel softness again,
but with the promise
that you can never hurt me twice.
  Jan 2016 Summer
Lauren Leal
But I finally convinced my demons I'm one of them.
Inner thoughts
Summer Jan 2016
Donald Trump,
you will never make
America great again.
the American Dream is dead.
and people like you,
are the ones who killed it.
Summer Jan 2016
somebody asked, how i felt about you when we were together,
somebody asked how much i cared
the way i looked at you could explain it all.
how i felt for you does not need words.
i just know i felt it.
i felt it so strongly with you.
that’s why i stopped writing about you,
not just because you did not like it,
but because it wasn’t fair to you or i.
it would not give both of us enough credit for our beauty.
or care.
all i am sure of right now is that i still think of your voice,
every time somebody asks me what my favorite sound is.
and the only reason i am writing this
is because "emissary" is playing
i’m feeling everything again,
but i am not sure
if these feelings are going to last
much longer
Summer Jan 2016
You tell me you wanna **** my brains out,
And I think you already have.
Because if I was smart enough,
I would've left you already.
  Jan 2016 Summer
mk
you keep hoping someone will reach out
and lightly touch you;
a reminder that you are not alone,
but you remain uncomfortably numb
in your lonely halo of sorrow-
*untouched, unspoken to.
"untouched, unspoken to."- bukowski
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