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I wish
my fingers
were his.
I don't think
about him,
my fingers do -
Touching me in places
I wish
only he did.
I think I was in this mental state of bliss that I created for myself and just used him as the reason.
My Short Memoirs are words taken directly from the writings in my personal journals
 Dec 2015 Deana Knight
Clindballe
If ignorance is bliss
then why am I miserable
not knowing if I should
hold on
or
*let go
Written: July 15. - 2014
 Dec 2015 Deana Knight
Kunal Kar
I woke up with gloomy dreams,
A pretty face I remember,
She had the vive of a queen,
While I was the slave of cold December.

Dream again, I ask my heart and mind,
Fading images meant this story's end,
So my eyes wore a sailor's dress,
Searching for a lost pile of sand.

The minutes of that dream shaped my hours dull,
With no awe in this life , I waited for her call,
I became what they call incorrigible,
As this desert heart now needed a last rainfall,

I never asked for her lover's heart,
Just to watch her skip my heartbeat,
Nor craved for those moonlight lips,
As I spend a lifetime watching our eyes meet.

The dream may never come,
Her sunset eyes may never rise,
For the sake of my capacious heart, I still close my eyes,
To live a thousand deaths to once see her blue sunset eyes.
Exporting distortion
Because I’m not broken

Days running in
They’re carved

Imprinted
I starve.

Tainted relief
I feel free.

Each veil
Remaining beneath

Exporting Distortion
Because I’m not broken

Restoring
All the power
I grab.

Reinforcing
All the power I have

— The End —