My life is a poem by Edgar Allan Poe
An epic, concealed by my tales of woe.
That terrible song, with the lyrics you know
That you just can't get out of your head.

My life is that song, mournfully played
With that lingering feeling, lost and afraid.
A song that depicts broken hearts, betrayed.
For which your ears have bled.

have we met ? seems so. you got them elastic rainbows i know you from
and that outskirts of pure idyll... you throttle the ominous pond of our requited aplomb.
we enjoy beetles.
this is how love chips away at the decade of obscure lesions. the reverse forward to a back-hand eclipse in a blithering idiot of genius. unkempt.
a bone rug.
the skim milk of human kindness, blinds the unicorn and the cabbage lichen
florescent in the mildew parchment of evening's attire.
i'll be here at the met, less attending but haunting the fiberglass whispers of your recent events.
the ones you left. left to their own devices. our every crisis is kind myth, crushing the throat of our adversary. as we pluck shamrocks in the way of our luckless fathers.
we alter the plausible cause with our audible launch
of not rockets.
where the air...
the air don't sing.
but you ain't been there
really

anyway.

Your lips
Were the first thing I noticed
Gently parted
Breathing in and out

Oh to be your words
Conceived within your mind
Born upon your lips

Poetry.

Your lips are ******* poetry.

Hold on
Hope is coming
Hold on
The sun is coming
Waiting to shine its light
Hold on
The world
Isn't as crazy
Or as cruel
as you might think
Hold on
Help is on the way
Don't give up
Even in your trials
Hold on
Life is always
Worth living
If you just hold on

She doesn’t move
when she thinks about him.
His thoughts consume her thoughts and
render her motionless.
She can’t cry when she thinks
about the time together they will never have ,
because how can you miss
something you don’t even know?
How can you lose
something you never even had?