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Abbie Argo Apr 2013
silence
if far
more terrifying
than the
loudest
scream

the cold
shoulder
of an old
friend

the anger of
a new one

shattering the night
Abbie Argo Apr 2013
i love you
you save me
and
put the
pieces
back
together
hold me closer

you're the ****
on the shower
who is
never too hot
and
never too cold
just right

constant
comfortable

i hate you
you killed me
you tore apart
the pieces
and stepped on
their mangled
bodies
you let me go

you're the ****
on the shower
who is
always too hot
and always
too
****
cold

cruel
unforgiving

god, i love you, you *******
Abbie Argo Apr 2013
books aren't meant to be beautiful
impeccably pristine, high on a shelf
out of reach
of grimy little fingers

no bent pages
or slightly stained covers
from that coffee
you had last week

to do so is an injustice
like buying a ferrari
just to stash it away
in a garage for the
entirety of its life
until
it
inevitably
dies

books are meant to catch tears
or perhaps
drool
from staying up
for just a moment
too long
because
i just have to finish this
one last chapter
then i'll sleep
i
promise
zzz
Abbie Argo Apr 2013
you
and me
we're like
cold
tea

what was once
warm and inviting
is now
tasteless and tepid

an afterthought

a sign
of long nights
i will
never
forget

whether i like it
or not

i always liked coffee better, anyway
Abbie Argo Apr 2013
i threw
away
my rationality
to make room
for my
imagination
Abbie Argo Apr 2013
black background

trillions of lights

flickering

beautiful

so alive

yet gone

even as i stare at them

from my little patch of green

no bang

no whimper

just dead

it gives a feeling

like the one

i get when i hear your name

heart wrenching

bitter sweet

like a punch

in the gut

then a hug

from an old friend

do you feel the same?

when you see the stars

from your front row seat,

when you hear my name?

sometimes

i imagine a time

from before

or perhaps after

when you’re

no longer

swimming through space

but here

with me

staring at the past,

clinging to each other in the present,

and praying to whoever

puts out the stars

for the future

but then comes

the fear

or wonder

or thought

or maybe

a little of all three

the fearwonderthought

that when your feet

touch the ground

will the loss of the stars

overwhelm

your regaining of me?

will i still be

the prettiest thing

you’ve ever seen?

i hear mars is beautiful this time of year.
Abbie Argo Apr 2013
i want to write,

but my words are

so shy.



they cling

to my brain

like a child

to a

blanket,



as if

their very life

depends

upon

it



little do they know,

if only

they would just

let go,

their life

would

truly begin.



the ink, their blood,

the paper, their bones.
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