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Get down off your thrown
Your feelings are now torn

From the love you brought
From the times you saught

For you have hurt many
With your fake loving heart
You said you love me,
and I believed you.
It was an infinite happiness,
until I realized that
You are not the person
I fell in love with.

Was it really love?
Or just an illusion?
Your power to make me feel
The way how love should felt.
Hi. I just joined Hello Poetry and this is my first shot. :)
The worst kind is people

People who let others believe that their instincts are mere insecurity

People are such liars

Do you know what the worst kind is people?

Lies to spare feelings

Ultimately there Is no comfort in dishonesty

Do you know what the best kind and the worst kind is?

**Mankind
Trust in yourself
He sat gripping his beer bottle in one hand
and a pen in the other, tapping it repetitively
on the open notebook before him.

That's when a little red-haired squeeze
came in and sat beside him, grazing his leg
with hers as she ordered her mixer.

She saw the great potential for love in his eyes
and started questioning his mind accordingly.
Seeking his essence, searching his being.

Yet he never shifted his gaze from the lined paper,
and answered all of her inquisitions without hesitation
because he knew what she wanted.

But she shifted closer to him and started to speak under
her breath, asking him if he has a woman waiting for him
at home. Asking more than her words implied.

His knuckles whitened and tightened around the green glass,
and the pen started tapping faster and faster on the unwritten
words upon the empty sheets.

She put her hand on his forearm and the tapping ceased
as blood red mist started fogging his already blurred vision,
seeing crimson, he ripped his eyes from the blank pages.

The bottle shattered and broken glass sank into his palm,
the pen erupted painting his calloused fingers black.
He turned and faced this intruder.

"Please leave me alone now," he spits into her frightened face,
and the crimson fog covers his sight completely, as his thirst is
sparked, ignited, and begins burning furiously.

He slams his eyelids shut and searches for Arlo's words,
searches for Arlo's eyes in his mind.
Searches and searches for her heart.

He massages his temples and counts his breaths.
He fights for his sanity in the face of doubt and intolerance.
He just wants his dear to be here..
He sighs and opens his eyes.

And he's alone again.
You drive me sane, my dear Arlo.


.

— The End —