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Luna Jul 2017
maybe if I let enough people touch me, I would stop feeling your hands on me.

Maybe all I’m doing is trying to cover up your fingerprints on my skin.
  Jun 2017 Luna
Ashley Black
It's easy to see broken clocks
aren't ticking
but I prefer broken people
Clocks get stuck
in their last instant
At least people keep on living
Luna May 2017
Believe me, there is nothing beautiful about feeling this way.  Poetry is just a bunch of pretty words used to romanticize things that caused you pain. Poetry fabricates sadness in its perpetual arrangement of letters in a poignant manner. The second you pen it down you obliquely ridicule your ache into something small, only to be relatable and 'beautifully written'.

Poetry is a lie.
i poeTRY. i know it's bad, haah
Luna Apr 2017
Fingertips of memories are stroking the back of my head. Night after night, it keeps pulling me back to you.

You see, wounds will heal but you're a scar; permanently engraved on me. I can never fully cut you off unless I cut a part of myself, too.

I guess that's the hardest truth to accept once you lose someone. The moment they leave, a part of you dies too. And I'm always confused who my heart grieves for, losing you or losing myself.
Luna Mar 2017
"What do you think about the loss of innocence?"

"Well, its bound to happen" i answered.

If only i knew that your question was meant as a subtle invitation.
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