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i
a  m
positive
that   you
are  made  of
s  t   a  r   d  u  s  t
and  water  balloons,
oil  pastels  and  the
collecti­on          of
settled     sugar
at             the
b o t  t o m
of      my
c u p s
o     f
t e a
I miss you like one would miss bruised knees
(From all our time on the floor)

I miss you like I miss the bottom of the cement pool
(Even though that's where my friends are)

I miss you like I miss razors raking my skin
(But my arms still beg for more)

I miss you like I miss the party scene
(Still think of it from time to time, though)

I miss you like flowers miss winters frost
(Cold and biting, never giving in)

I miss you like I miss hands around my neck
(I think I'd still say I love you, yet)
If you asked me how much you meant to me a few months ago,
I'd say you were the treasured flowers that occupied my vase,
You're now the dead leaves I step on.
You used to be my favourite sweater keeping me safe and warm,
You're now the discarded blanket stuffed in my drawers, failing to keep the nightmares away.
You've become what I always was to you, nothing.
Stop trying to remember his scent, he smelled like summer and reminds you of the time he made you laugh so hard, you snorted out milk on that dead, hazy day.

2. Don't waste your day trying to decipher what colour his eyes were, it'll only remind you of the galaxies and constellations that you once saw in his eyes

3. Stop trying to retrace the shape of his mouth in the middle of the night, you'll choke on your tongue trying to taste the mint he devoured seconds before pulling you in for a kiss

4. Stop reliving the times you clasped hands together, the glass plate will fall off your trembling hands.

5. Burn this list, admit that the galaxies and constellations shining in his eyes were wilted, the one in yours are bursting with fire. Remember on the dead, hazy day his laugh sounded like nails running down a chalkboard. Remember when you kissed, the weeds growing from his mouth entangled the roses blooming in yours.

Realize that one day, another boy is going to come and plant daisies where he left behind thorns.
It's so easy
To slice through those
Writs of yours;
It's so easy
To make an excuse
Not to eat;
It's so easy
To smoke yourself
To death;
It's so easy
To open your mouth
And purge your problems away;
But it's so hard
To open your mouth
And speak
Not my best. I've been having writer's block when it comes to poetry and my depression has just come back full force so I've been doing more sleeping than anything else.
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