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  May 2017 Grace Spellman
Cup Noodles
scars were meant to leave
permanent marks
but the pain
I thought
to fade
  May 2017 Grace Spellman
Hayley Anders
It's all an illusion.
The fame,
The fortune,
None of it matters.

So look at who you are
Is it who you want to be?
Is this where you are
Or where you want to be?

It's all an illusion.
The fear,
The freedom,
None of it matters.

Are you running away from here
Or running to somewhere?
Is this excitement
Or are you just scared?

It's all an illusion.
The fact,
The fiction,
None of it matters.

Does this world exist
Or is it in my mind?
Are you real
Or my imagination?*

You're the illusion,
My dear,
Because you were never really here.
  Apr 2017 Grace Spellman
blue mercury
i do not think i am depressed,
but i've been showing signs of depression.
i'm holding on until
until
until
god knows what/when/where.

i need
something
bigger.
i need
to be
repaired.
  Apr 2017 Grace Spellman
blue mercury
reminding me of
when I was still unbroken
(whole without split halves)

there are a million reasons for life to be the worst it’s been, but apparently I did something right,  because I get to call you mine. sometimes I think that I don’t deserve you, so I hold you as close as I can before you fade.

my face gets mad warm
whenever you say my name
(I love you so bad)

you’re shy and I’m anxious, but somehow we manage to make first impressions I love your smile and the way you’re alight, glowing. I always talk about lights when I’m talking about you and  I need a metaphor. because, my world was so dark, until suddenly: you. you are a thousand bright lights and you’ve been making my world luminescent from the very first moments.

the skeletons in
my closet are scaring me
(forget your demons)

I’m trying to remember who I was before I met you, even though I don’t want to. I want to forget her. she was so dark, so sad, so broken. this version of me is brighter, happier, kinder. I may be naive- but i don’t know how I feel about forever.

walls come crashing  down
promise me you will be there?
(you still light me up.)
Grace Spellman Apr 2017
the rough texture on his fingers
from putting his soul into his art
his guitar, all black and shiny
a piece of art alone, extra special when he plays it
the warmth of his palm
i trace the lines that cover it
making an 'A' on the center
i clasp my hand, interlacing our fingers
rubbing my thumb against his
i kiss him
nothing makes me happier
than the simple feeling
of his hand
Grace Spellman Apr 2017
she tasted like rich wine,
and i was drunk on her love.
and i could never get enough.
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