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Anastasia Feb 2020
Press your hands against my skin
Caress
To feel your warmth
I'd die again
You are the ghost
Of a dream
Your hands the touch
What I need
Crave
You.

Move your hands along my spine
Whisper
Feel your breath against mine
To feel alive
Make me please
Feel alive if just one more time
But a dream
Only of
your hands.
you never really existed you were only a dream
Anastasia Feb 2020
Sunshine on the window
Blue green red yellow glass
Truly a silly ol' thing,
What are you doing, quiet bird?
Why do you not sing?

Creativity sinking into me,
Sweat rolling out of my pores,
What is it that I bring?
What are doing, lonely bird?
Why do you not sing?

Rain tapping on my roof,
Dogs howling in the night,
Oh but when you’ve struck the wrong string,
What are you doing, little bird?
Why do you not sing?

To sing would bring
Not only joy,
But a thing,
A song to sing
Of cold and warmth,
But even then,
My little bird, my lovely friend,
You’d end up too,
Inside the lion’s den.
Anastasia Feb 2020
Darkness
The clouds—gray
Wind blowing
Hair ruffled up
Heart is pounding
Me—aching, wanting
Something… something…
More
Sunlight.

I breathe in
Exhale
A tear flows
Runs down
Drops from my chin
Didn’t think I’d be back here again
In the darkness
Where there is no light…

                No light at all.

— The End —