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Finding the boundaries that carry us away
The person we portray and the one we confine
Well mannered ****** deviant out of control
The urge to be perfect, held higher then a world on fire
burying her feet in the pit of the ashes with no meaning
Her skin thickened
A kiss from another comfort
A carressing finger tip
A body erratically pushing
Magnificently disturbed, naked on a decaying blanket
Eating burnt cookies and old tea, she will never leave
A foolish love
A half full comfort
She is destroyed and so is the universe circling her
A head held up and mouth forced shut by the whiskey bottle tape to her neck
Silence as she walks blessed
She is nothing but forgiveness
let me be
your cigarette

so I could
touch
your lips

let me be
your addiction

that you could never
try
to quit
 Nov 2018 Anastasia Helarch
Maya
if it appears that
my poems lack conviction,
it's because they do.

my words: white noise on
a radio brain, and i
can't change the station.
Do you still think of me
At random during the day?
Wonder what I'm doing
Or where I am
Or what I'm thinking?
Do you still dream of me
Being with you
In some beautiful place?
Do you still miss my voice
Or wish for my touch?
Do you still
Or is it just me?
I hope
That in the end
I've made your life better
 Oct 2018 Anastasia Helarch
Renee
I'm sure I look fine.

Days like today,
I want to strip the skin
From my forearms
Using only my fingernails.

Days like today,
I want to wring out
My legs like a washcloth,
Squeeze the rolls on my stomach
Until they're empty.

Days like this,
I want to walk away from my body
forever.

I'm sure I look fine.
 Oct 2018 Anastasia Helarch
Bragi
Loving you was like I jumped on a train at the last second; the doors sliding behind me and I almost missed it, the carriage that held you. As I took a seat I noticed you there, sat reading a book, holding a sweet smile across rose tinted cheeks, the glasses you wear hanging tightly atop your nose. I never want to leave. I stop, start staring like an idiot and its obvious how I feel, but you haven’t noticed my existence. The book is written by someone who stole your heart and even though I hope you finish it before my stop I know you can’t. I just wish you’d have looked up. Just once, at me. I wish you’d have seen what I’d seen looking at you one last time as I stepped off the carriage and onto a platform that lead somewhere you would never know. Somewhere we would never be.
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