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 Feb 2018
Mirlotta
I never thought that Lucifer would be so pretty.
He has your hands, darling- pink and white:
like roses in Russia, or else a scab that hasn't quite healed.
His hair is hot as hell, which is unsurprising, honestly.
He shuffles through the Moscow streets with reality
peeled away from his eyelids. I don't think he sees me at all
and yet I feel him, cold as the ice on which we tread towards each other. I wonder if he closed his eyes when he fell from heaven.

You did, I know. You hate heights, or perhaps just the falling.
Maybe that's why the love-thing never worked out.
the story behind this one is the fact I can recognise my ex just from her hands. how can HANDS inspire so much emotion???? wow
Am I no more than a stone in your shoe?
To be flicked away like empty wrappers,
Or used up batteries,

Am I used up?
Have I fulfilled my purpose?
My merit in your mind hit zero,
And plunged into resentment.

Is there no reason to keep me around?
Am I too much trouble?
Two genders too many for you?
Or is it just that you can't stand that I'm her friend too?

She does not belong to you,
So stop acting like me being near her,
Is going to hurt her.

But I guess it's too late now.
And contact,
Eight months on,
Back to the way we used to be,
Talking,
Laughing,
Teasing,
Again,
Just like before,
And I found myself,
Looking for a little too long,
Into those eyes that entranced me for years,
Do I still?
No.
She cut me off,
She hurt me,
Tore my world apart,
And yet,
Saved me,
And how I longed to return,
To before,
Until,
I found another,
Lost another,
And forgot to look back,
But maybe,
It would be nice,
To just get back,
To being,
Friends.
Thanks for speaking to me again :) It's been a while.
Sitting silently,
He sits and stares at his phone,
Shifting slightly,
He doesn't look up from his phone,
Coughing quietly,
He ignores me and looks at his phone,
A little louder,
He stays there slowly reading his phone,
Groaning with the pain,
He still remains there silently checking his phone,
Starting to bleed,
He raises an eyebrow at the screen of his phone that he studies so intently.
Feeling faint,
He sighs and looks at the clock before looking back down at the obviously intriguing phone in his hand.
Skin pale, vision blurred,
He chuckles to himself and takes a sip from the half-empty cup of tea at his side and scrolls with a single finger on the screen of his phone.
My voice is weak as I call out,
"Dad..."
For the last time the blade glides over my wrist.
He stares at his phone.
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
Hey there, woah there
well I'd just like to
take this fine opportunity
to tell you that I assure you,
my good sir, that I don't
give one-eighth of a
one-hundredth of a
flying ****.
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
I'd love
love love
to wish
you a
happy valentine's
day
but I
hate
hate hate
the fact
you're
fictional
What the hell even is this title?! X)
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
Paper faces on display behind their
crumbling, flaking paper masks.
Bodies carved from fragile glass
about to shatter as they dip and dance.
Longing for a false romance
to warm and burn their paper hearts.
Kisses underneath the stars;
the fraying smoke from their cigars.
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
I'm writing love letters to the dead
not because you're dead but
because I'm never going to see you again
and that's as good as dead
I guess
I suppose
I sort of
kind of
hope.
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
read the words beneath my moving lips like reading is the art it is
talk until your voice falls silent like it's music, like the song it is
spread my soul out on the table and devour it like the book it is
let your coffee scented kisses stain the pages red with romance
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
[]
Every day you take a stroll at 6pm inside my brain
stomping on all my emotions and not looking where you're going.
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
I knew you just once
and in that once I knew that I knew you
like leaves know the ground
I knew you
like the humming bird knows the sky
I knew you
and that once was enough
to let me know that
I knew you and
*******
I could have known you so much more
 Feb 2015
Mirlotta
I love the way you make me hate you.
I hate the foolish way it makes me love you.
The briefest of conversations,
The most serious tone in her voice,
As she explained the end was here.

I listened, helpless, as she told me,
That I wasn't worth it,
That she didn't feel the same as before.

I watched as she stood to leave,
Avoiding my eyes,
Picking up her bag to walk out of my life.

I told her to wait, a final, desperate attempt,
I told her I'd do anything,
She said: "I don't think there's anything you can do."

And with that, the best two months of my life,
Came to a bitter end,
With tears, regrets and despair in control of me.

The hardest part is not that she's gone,
It's that I can't bring myself to hate her,
I still love her.

But I guess that wasn't enough.

Farewell, you who showed me how to smile,
Be happy,
If I can't do that for you, I hope someone else can.
I couldn't quite bring myself to write this until now.
Goodbye and thank you, though you probably won't read this.
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