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After the end
she wore the beige bra that she bought for him
because he liked plain things  
under a dark turtleneck that meant she was mourning
their loss even if maybe he wasn't

she shivered into the street
and watched the palm drop on the moon,
the stars pop out like street lights whose bulbs you couldn't change,
their high up light bleached the night,
falling over the Prius, bouncing off the half-bumpered Honda, sliding down the metal window connector of the neighborhood's only El Dorado before ending up on pavement like most things do
the garage seemed to radiate and
other people's windows glowed yellow

as she turned to go
a cat rolled across the four lane road
like it was a meadow
Wrote this last night after wandering around. Would love to get your feedback.
My eyes are black,
My heart is cold,
self-hatred is radiating from within my soul,
the mirror reflects what i don't want to see
i hate every single aspect about me
from my abnormal eyes
to my ugly, fat thighs
see, i hate myself too
probably even more than you.
'If a writer falls
in love with you
You can never die'
Even if this were true
I will **** you tonight
I will **** you tomorrow
Until I run out of ink
I will **** you
In each and every one
Of my rhyme-less poems
I will write
Of your death
In my blood
When my quill is dry
So when I die
You die with me
And you are dead
Even in immortality
'heheheheh' -Death
3am is so unkind
to a lonely longing mind

— The End —