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You ruined me
Before you,
I handed out kisses like candy
I was detached
Distant
Dispassionate

But you rooted yourself so deep into my heart
That I can't dig you out
And I hear your voice taunting,
"Him? Seriously?"
I see the hair on your neck rise in jealousy
But you don't get to be jealous
Because you left me

But what does matter?
Because I'm still hopelessly in love with all that we were
So if I can't have you
Then I'd rather have nothing at all
I would love to let you read my mind
Follow my thoughts just as you would the pages of a book
If you enjoy having every fibre of your consciousness picked apart by literary ***** at 2 am on a Wednesday,
Fall in love with a writer.

If you enjoy fighting over incorrect grammar usage,
Fall in love with a writer.

If you want to constantly have your eyes rolled at every time you question a metaphor,
Fall in love with a writer.

If you want to be swept off your feet and then promptly put back down in the same piece of writing,
Fall in love with a writer.

If you want to feel worried when the phone isn't answered,
Fall in love with a writer.

Mood swings and sleepless nights?
Fall in love with a writer.

If tangible expression conveys unequivocal compassion,
Most of the time, don't fall in love with a writer.

If you want misinterpret pieces of writing because of the uncertainty of the writers sanity,
Fall in love with one.

If you find that yesterday you were dating a completely different person, if you find that your skin is often referred to as porcelain cigarette ash, if your eyes are viewed like the the first time you saw two flies *******, if the lump in your throat lives on ballpoints, you've fell in love with a writer.

There's no turning
back at this point,
falling out of love
with a writer is like
saying goodbye to a
phone with no dial tone.
 May 2016 amerhakim
The Dedpoet
Liquid evening when the rains
Whisper to the lovers and soften
Their lips to comfort one another.

Drenched mornings when not even
Noah's dove can be spotted,
The solitudes as one makes the journey;
The thunder crackles tirelessly
On the windshield.

Liquid days when the earth is a fog,
When I admit I get lost at times,
Because the mist forms tears on
My face, and somewhere just above
The light shows how that it is half
There, such wet pessimism.

Rain like a sudden death
That invites grey days known as
Tears from Heaven,
A fitting farewell for the missing
Or gone.

Rain, liquid like old blood
That sits by a fire,
Cup in hand and reminiscing
On old storms as supplication
For the tired bones that once ran
To the lover, that once made love
In a slow drizzle,
Awaiting a final lightning.

Rain,
When my soul hits bottom
I take a walk,
I feel the wet earth at my feet,
The drops on my face,
The thunder that makes me
Know I am small,
The lightning that shines the way,
And in the distance,
A ray of sun that escapes,
And I know this too shall pass.
 May 2016 amerhakim
Jack Jenkins
Amid a maelstrom of emotions,
  My heart is doomed and languid.
A broken love, tattered devotions,
  Falling hopes and rising anguish.

Carelessly wounded, my heart crawls,
  Foolishly forsaken my glorious Lord.
Surrounded by my collapsed sand walls,
  The loss was a cost I can't ever afford.
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