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Amanda M Sep 2015
she counts the stars
above her head
they shine bright,
they gleam and they glow,
but her future grows dim.
the tunnel closes day by day
her skin turns dark
her lips turn pale
she thinks on dreams and empty promises
and sweet nothings.
but somehow, she lives.
her heart beats, second by second
a hot, molten heart
It stretches her skin
pounds further and further out of her chest.
What would you do with a molten heart?
Her heart grew too hot for her body to bear
It burned her hands and feet and face, so
it turned cold. she turned cold.
it chilled her. It chilled her veins and
her bones and
her mind, and it set her free.
This was for my English class. I'm hoping it'll get me more into poetry.
Amanda M Jul 2014
people are coming and
i am not ready;
my chest will pop
and my hands will bleed

i need you to
help me forget about home
Amanda M Jul 2014
#2
perfection is defined as
       being free of all flaws and
  abnormalities.
but i would beg to differ

some people might
     bottle up your imperfections and
          your beauties and
     create their own concoctions,
but i have never felt the need to
do something like that.

your beauties are your
         imperfections,
     sweetheart.
Amanda M Jul 2014
#1
ambrosia and crystalline stardust
       of yours in my senses
                    in my nose and my lungs.
       breathing in and out is
                    intoxicating
       and being around you is
                    without anxiety, except for
                    the butterflies in my stomach for
                              tomorrow.

you rid my body of the scars and
        fill me with wonderful empty
        thoughts and you.
you are polar and intense and
        you are
                   close.

— The End —