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 Feb 2015 Elizabeth Johnston
Emma
I drank 4 shots yesterday
Every single one
"in the name of those we lost in love"
Feeling the burn
Down my throat
Tasting your last
Goodbye
And watching it infect
The blood in my veins
I felt the dizziness of
Being lost
The kind you feel when
You've just lost a friend
Or the one you'd fall asleep next to
Or both
I felt the nausea rise up
Like a roaring sea
With the memories we once had
As I stumbled down
To touch the ground
That for once felt like home
Trying to rid myself
Of the thoughts of you
Swimming in my mind
Sober or drunk
It's always you that
My heart remembers
Alcohol tastes better than sadness but it's not the answer, I promise.
This past summer I burned for a writer.
Our first date, by a lake.
We sat on this old, worn out picnic table.
I should have known it wasn't going to work out.
We talked.
Hand in hand, crossing running water,
Dark.
The road was rocky and unstable and it  was the same way out.
I should have known it would turn out this  way.
She wrote all over me.
Touching,
Leaving fingerprints mistaken as ink stains.
She was writer and pen and keyboard and  backspace.
I was paper
and just paper.
She took me home
Lips to lips,
up in flames I went
She did that to me.
3rd degree burns shouldn't have felt that right.
I should have known,
I should have known
This was all too good
I was too good.
she was too good.
I wish i was not so dark,
Not The skin but in my heart,
Its always a midnight hue,
And in my heart there is a part that waits,
I wait for you.
She screams in silent
So no one can hear.
Sometimes,
She even catches her tears.
You feel a sudden shift in time,
but you do not want to admit anything.
So we lie in bed,
because that seems like the only solution.
I fall asleep in your arms,
you write me this *ecliptic rhyme
.
Only one I can solve,
as the new moon and stars set.
I slowly can feel chills,
an emptiness consumes my every thought.
I cannot bare to hold it all in,
my knees and hands hit the concrete.
Blood runs from my ears,
I yell but nothing comes out.

All my missing feelings and emotions
come back and
  devour  my breath.
I frantically take my fist
and carve 'help' in the dirt.
Falling back I hit my head on the tree,
you wake me up hours later.
You swear I am alive,
but everything is drained.
Kenophobia is the fear of voids or empty spaces.
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You can feel empty, but still that somehow could
eat you alive, more than being occupied
with the real world.
"It  is a risk to love.
What is it doesn't work out?
Ah, But what if it does"
#PeterMcWilliams
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