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I can feel it in the very air I breathe.
I can see it in the blackest night.
I can touch its coldness shrouding me in silk.
I can hear its suggestive words, constantly whispering.
I can taste its need to feed on my fear.
I can and will ignore this monster.
After all,
Its just my reflection.
© JLB
02/09/2014
01:28 BST
 Sep 2014 Kelly Anne
Rob Rutledge
Staying up late, so late it's early
Then dreaming long and far.
"Come on, get up you're missing the sun!"
"Ah! But I see so much more of the stars!"
He listened
To her laugh
As if it was a symphony
And she hung
On his words
Like they were vines

By Chloe Elizabeth
Another little excerpt from a short story I wrote a couple months ago.
I want to tell you
everything.

Everything there is
to know about me.

About how I ran from
the highest hill down
to feel the air push
me behind.

Once I bent down
before God
and asked Him to give me
death over happiness.

I used to believe that
dust was nothing but
dead memories
fallen away from us.

I will tell you everything.
If only you asked.

Because I want to.

I want to give you
a piece of my mind.
I want you to get
inside the mind that controls
this melancholy body.

I want you to get
inside the chambers of my heart
and wrest dark secrets
from its broken symphonies.

Fix it.

You?
I will tell you anything.
THE girl goes dancing there
On the leaf-sown, new-mown, smooth
Grass plot of the garden;
Escaped from bitter youth,
Escaped out of her crowd,
Or out of her black cloud.
Ah, dancer, ah, sweet dancer.!

If strange men come from the house
To lead her away, do not say
That she is happy being crazy;
Lead them gently astray;
Let her finish her dance,
Let her finish her dance.
Ah, dancer, ah, sweet dancer.!
I would have said so many things to you
But the words were too heavy
And my voice isn't strong enough
I managed, "I'll see you again"

We are not heavy.
Nothing in this life needs to be heavy
God was not a Mason, moving heavy brick
God was an artist, painting weightless strokes
Every second we had together was a stroke of God
On perfect canvas

The story of our lives cannot be contained on the pages between two covers
Sometimes the stories need space and more ink
She would fill an entire book

I would give up shooting stars
And making wishes
Because I had everything
And traded it for anything, which wasn't her
We all make mistakes; we all have our sins
But what would you give
To start it again

So I use my shooting stars to bless her life
I use my magic moments to ask for our life
To not be separated too long
Because that was the hardest goodbye

In our tears, I could hear
Her whispering profanities
Waves of my gratitude
For who she taught me to be
"You're such an *******," she said
And I know how she feels
How can goodbye be something that's real?
Our book is not done
There's more to be said
So instead of "The End"
"I'll see you again."
A.S.
 Apr 2014 Kelly Anne
Heliza Rose
I write letters to the dead because they are quiet and they listen.

I write letters to the dead because they like the night as much as I do.

I write letters to the dead because they never write back.
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