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Traces of you linger
Scents, Sights, Places; Triggers
I can still taste your sweet breath.
I can still feel the ghost of the butterflies;
The haunting only your face brings.
Whispers of memory.
Tears have worn broken trails
down my face
crashing into the place
the eroded space
of my heaving chest.
Shallow breathing of a
heart, half beating.
The instinct to survive
hanging on by tiny thread.
One more memory
will send me over the edge.
I'm at the ledge,
I'm at the ledge
Toes hanging over.
Just a nudge.
*Just a nudge
it hurts there
                        no, higher than my rib bones
                          lower than my coller bone
        a little to the left of my breast bone
                there
right where my heart beats
  that's where the pain is
                        what pills can i take to help the pain?
this morning
        i chased my thoughts away
                       with physical pain
this afternoon
               i chased my pain away
                         with mental guilt
this night
               i chased my guilt away
                           with literal tears
i did                                    
it got me                    
                                                     nowhere
my friends;
they don't know what my poetry knows
my poetry is always with me
              stuck in the corners of my mind
                     wanting to escape my heart
my poetry
is a direct link
to my mind
           heart
         secrets
                               *"shhh no one knows"
                         "please don't tell"
people say                                                                        
they hate being home alone                                          
for too long                                                                      
it's too quite.                                                                    
they play music, the TV is on                                        
just so they wont feel so alone                                      
i love being alone
no one is here
to expect anything of me
so i do more than if
everyone is home, and asking me
to do things, because i'm not.
i'm alone all the time                                                      
so being physically alone                                              
almost feels like you're here                                        
not them, you                                                                  
like you're simply sleeping
in our shared bedroom
because you didn't get to sleep
until late//early morning
you were too busy
watching me sleep, and keeping me safe
so you didn't sleep until you were sure
i was okay
this wasnt meant to be a love poem, it kinda just happened
gently placing two dainty daffodils
into a cracked vase                                              
holding it under a cold running tap          
and half filling it with water
the daffodils sway slightly                    
caught in the ripples and eddies                                              
made by the small space and flowing water            
their fragrance is thrown upon the place
as if wanting everyone to smell                          
their powdery yellow fragrance        
setting it onto the middle of the table                    
they live comfortably                              
until the water slowly seeps out the faint cracks
water staining mahogany wood
the flowers wilt long before they should have                
with life saving water spilt everywhere                      
they loose their brightness  
and forget their sweet smell    
to become lifeless nothings                          
settled into a waterless vase
title relating to something someone said to me once.
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