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 Mar 2014 kerosine eyes
Monika
Time flies.
Before you know it,
you're not six,
but sixteen
and you can't even remember
what you were feeling
when you rode a bike for the first time.
You can't remember what you felt
when you first accomplished something–something big.
You can't wrap your mind around the fact that you're two years away from
being considered an adult
because you sure don't feel like one.
In fact,
you find it amusing
because you're not even responsible
enough to know what to wear in the mornings.
It's crazy to think that we are just kids
who swear we know the future.
We think our words will take us halfway around the world
but most of us won't even leave this town
and that girl who dreams of the city
will never see New York.
When we were younger,
we thought being teenagers
would be heaven.
We dreamt of makeup
and parties
and sneaking out to kiss the cute boy
across the street
but nobody ever bothered to tell us that
there would be days when we no longer want to live or, rather, days where we
feel so numb we'll do anything to feel something because truth is,
we feel kind of dead inside
and all we want is to feel alive.
and so we swallow pills
and we cut open our skin
in hopes of getting rid of the monsters
inside our heads that follow us every day,
even though everyone told us
they'd be stuck under our beds.
it seems like just yesterday
you were playing with dolls
and now you're writing poems about a boy who won't ever see you
the way you see him.
It's hard for any of us to realize that
in a year we won't remember
this very moment
and you won't remember how fast
your heart beat when he held your hand
for the first time
because in reality,
feelings don't last forever.
Nothing lasts forever.
when my love comes to see me it’s
just a little like music,a
little more like curving colour(say
orange)
          against silence,or darkness….

the coming of my love emits
a wonderful smell in my mind,

you should see when i turn to find
her how my least heart-beat becomes less.
And then all her beauty is a vise

whose stilling lips ****** suddenly me,

but of my corpse the tool her smile makes something
suddenly luminous and precise

—and then we are I and She….

what is that the hurdy-gurdy’s playing

— The End —