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Intoxication from another’s love
is how I forget your face.
Pushing the boundaries of poisoning
day and night.
Eyes rolling back,
stomach pumping,
dizzy and spinning,
pleasure achieved.
Satisfaction?
Never.

I get drunk off of shallow love.
I crave it.
I want it.
I need it.
To forget you.
I crave the taste that numbs my senses.
I want the nausea to burn the pain.
I need the hazy feeling that throws
me into a sense of nonexistence.
I need it to forget you.

Sobriety grabs me every few days.
Anxiety finds it’s way into my mind.
I’d rather be under the influence.  
Facing reality means facing regret.
Ignore the past the way you ignore me.
Drunken state is better for forgetting.

I get intoxicated on fake love.
It makes me feel wanted
but the lump in my throat,
the loss that churns in my belly,
the swollen eyes staring from the mirror;
they **** the buzz.
Reality.
You’re gone.
Time to start forgetting.
Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated! Thank you!
 Mar 2013 Anna King
EGDarling
I promised you i’d plant those **** pink roses but
that Sunday morning that you broke me in ways
even my best friend didn’t think was possible

and i realized it was probably a good thing
that the whole thing was a production of strictly pretend;
a play, a script, an authors first mistake-

that day, i clipped every last flower
off and set the remains in a little drawer
with shards of glass i broke in my sleep
because i loved you every single day

despite my
i’m over you i’m over you i’m over you
that i repeated with the foolish hope of
convincing somebody that air still funnels through my lungs

and it’s come to my attention that
i’d pick my head over my heart but that is only
because i am a toy car abandoned by every single
pair of hands to wind it up and let it go

And yes, I will reduce my emotions to dust or
enlarge them in full zoom but
I cannot get over that fact that the clementines rotted in front
of us and

you devoured the part of me that let my heart reign over
my head and snapped the key to my rib cage;

you promised you would keep it safe and
you *lied
That final goodbye, that last salute
Is the hardest thing a man can do
You've lost her love, she's lost your trust
Moving on is now a must
The world will turn, the leaves will fall
Spiders spin and birds will call
The past is set and time won't freeze
These wounds will heal just not with ease
 Mar 2013 Anna King
Roni Shelley
Can we all just be ****** for a second?
People forget to give anger recognition sometimes
So let me throw **** around and have you watch me
In fact, join me.
Someone finally admitted the problem
That everyone kept to themselves.
 Mar 2013 Anna King
Prabhu Iyer
There is a song that skins remember.
A line that resounds in silences.
A form the heart revisits
in fervid recollections.

That you must not speak,
that you must not speak.

Silences can ****.
No need to ask Crusoe.

Stars that explode in suicide:
From aeons of tortuous silences,
from distant companions,
silently cold.

Yes, our silences talk. Sorry, this
was not how it was supposed to be.
Strains of there we go again.

Gulfs of empty spaces between
silent vales, that birth the
mourning winds.

Murmurs leap out like dolphins
out of our silences.

Waiting to hear each other. Past
the dirge at the grave of my errors.
I've never been in love, but it must be like waking up from a lovely dream.
It's probably something like a road trip without a destination.
I hope it's that feeling in your stomach as the roller coaster is dropping, electricity coursing through your veins.
Maybe it's like a camera, freezing moments that feel like forever.
I bet its something like the glittering embers in the sky, just after a firework burst into a dozen lights.
I'm sure love is like a constellation, where you can connect the dots to create a story.
Love must be like rain drops on a window, accumulating slowly, then racing to the brim of the frame.
I think love is like an eclipse. The sun and the moon circling the globe, in search of each other. And when they finally meet, the world stops to watch.
For me, I know love is a dusty typewriter, waiting for its story to be written.
Another one I may submit for the contest. I am welcome to criticism and suggestions.
(I borrowed a little bit from lunar, don't mind it)
Thanks for stopping by.

Property of L.D. 2013
 Mar 2013 Anna King
Sammie wells
I'm still here where you left me
crumpled on the floor,
ripped an torn
with swirling thoughts
running through my head.

I'm still here where you left me
sore an bruised
can't seem to move.

I'm still here where you left me,
broken,
Sore,
Ripped
torn,
where you left me,
Laying in despair..

Defeated.

(SW)
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