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1.7k · Jul 2015
Music and Metaphors
In the world of music
I was a record
And she was a song ******.
But even though I sang about all the things she was addicted to
I just wasn't her genre.
It's been a while
1.2k · Oct 2014
not Here, but There
You left her
                                                 There.
        And she stayed.
        And all alone she sat
        All the way over
                                                  There.
   ­     And no one over
Here
         Ever noticed when
         The girl over
                                                   There
         Started to
                              F
                                ­ a
                                    l
                         ­              l
         When she went  S p l a t
          No one
Here
          Noticed.
          No one saw
          Because the girl over
                                                   There
           Landed over
                                                    There
  ­          After the
                              F
                             ­    a
                                    l
                         ­              l
Hey it *****. But my brain ***** right now. I'll delete this but i wanted to put something out here today. I thought it was better before i actually wrote it out.
551 · Aug 2017
Icarus
A bluebird flies, fearless, in the clouds, but succumbs to fate,
Falling. Its wings broken bent and belted in the cry of last hope.
If only Icarus weren’t so close— as sky gives way to sea.
I always say I'llbpost more but rarely do. We'll see if it changes.
Oh, Love! what you must know—
Is that my attachment to you can only grow.
My love for you knows no bounds—
It fills every corner; it resounds
In my chest— like a thing with wings—
That flutters and sputters with plucked heartstrings.
As a loyal companion returns at a cue—
My heart will always come back to you.
Happy Valentine's Day
375 · Aug 2017
Untitled #1
A Wind rolls through the forest—
Branches shake— on a bare tree
A Leaf rustles— restless— quivering—
Holding on a moment longer—

A Wind rolled through the forest—
Now All is still— hushed— like Dawn
The Cold relinquishes— Darkness parts—
And reveals the Leaf is gone.
We wrote Emily Dickinson style poems in class. Voila.

— The End —