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Kyra Madeleine Oct 2017
The war between my heart
and my head
is one too great
for my ink-stained hand.

-k.m
Kyra Madeleine Oct 2017
I was sad again last night, but not the usual kind of sad. This time a direful longing seeped in, replacing the bitter melancholy that makes my cranium its home. All I wanted was for you to fill the cold, settled sheets on the other side of the bed, to be there when I reached out, to be able to sing myself to sleep with the rise and fall of your lungs.
It was as if my heart was spilling out of my body and onto the floor before me. The sadness poured out of me in every way possible, and there was never to be a cure because you were not
there.
Too far, are you now, to rescue me from this dreadful ache.
The ache that extends out of my fingers
and into my pen as I write this.
The ache that keeps me up at night,
and disappoints me every morning.
The ache that makes every coffee too bitter
and too weak
because the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore
is you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
Please come back soon.

- k.m.
Kyra Madeleine Oct 2017
II.
Just as the lone wolf
makes unrequited love to the moon
each night,
I will wait;
hopelessly yearning for something that
cannot be.

-k.m.
Kyra Madeleine Oct 2017
Your name,
like the sweet, stinging aroma
of a half-burnt cigarette,
always seems to
                               linger.

Creeping
into
the backs of my brain

A reminder of
                          
                           blissful temptation.

- k.m.
Kyra Madeleine Oct 2017
Wrap your pensive fingers
around my jaw
and pull me closer.

Make me forget that her name
is still stuck between your teeth;

show me what it's like
to forget the
                        pain.

- k.m.
Kyra Madeleine Oct 2017
my whole life
I've only ever been
someone's bad habit. 

like stealing drags
behind the library,
or biting broken nails
numb,
I became their drug in choosing.

pretty lips,
and a ***** secret;
a harrowing existence,
meets feverish addiction.

their idea of killing time
was killing me
and this is what I called love.

I guess I have a thing
for
       homicide.

-k.m.

— The End —