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Now listen my dear,
don't hold back your tears.
Hell is empty 'cause
all the demons are here.

Here comes the witches,
goblins and dragons.
My life is a war
and my soul is the fort.

They tear at my flesh
and they rip up my skin.
I can't drown these demons,
they know how to swim.

I can see the snake
slithering at my feet.
This battle is for the strong,
not for the weak.

I long for the day
for the end of the fight.
I'm alone in the dark, and
longing for the light.
Fingers like bones morph to my chin,
Tilt it always back toward the land,
Whenever I float to the sea.
I envy the sky for it hears the sound of your laugh.
I imagine it like the stars;
Bright and unique,
Probably shining.
Please dance through my eardrums;
Sing songs of protection and loyalty.
I wonder if you were a lovely liar,
Or maybe even a poet.
I hope you'd be proud;
I ran from the smoke,
coughed the cloud from my lungs.
It lingered above until it ran out of rain,
Like tears on the crescent moon of my cheeks.
The blood we share flows faster then his temper,
And hotter then her lips,
But I swear to God I feel you somewhere,
Disguised as my rib cage,
You hold me up,
Keep me centered.
For me and you I swear,
Ill chase the stars till sunrise,
And light candles in corners forgotten.
Your room is yellow,
Flowers bloom in the floor boards,
Signs of you all around.
I lay my head where you once placed yours and think;
Did you even like yellow?
The palm of my hand is a map to your core.
Ill shrink to a vein within myself and slide straight to you.
The problem is picking which path of three will land me back to a face like my own.
Hold the matches,
Kiss every tomb,
Saturate my eye lids,
show my blood to me.
I don't show her all the poems
I write,
Because if I did,
I would be picking up
***** crying tissues
From every room.

I don't show her all the poems
I write,
Because if I did,
My neck would be sore,
My back twisted,
My arms black n blue
Where she alternatively
Hugged me too hard or punched me harder,
For making her sadmadhappy,
Or just one of
all of the above.

I don't show her all the poems
I write,
Because some are meant for her to read,
Après les deluge,
After I'm gone,
Safely but sadly,
Out of her reach,
And the man who always carries
Tissues for her,
Has finally
Run out of stock.
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