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The one who the one you're in love with is in love with
Is never gonna be good enough
According to you
But me thinks your opinion is slightly askew
Glistening
Amber
Kaleidoscope  (a la corn and carrots)
Colliding olfactoraly
Straining
Struggling
At last,
Sterile
all ******* in a
gaze of satin
my god, does he know
what's happened?
& the tide is
rushing in

am I the sea or
the one who
waits beside it?

hell and heaven both
know that I'd
rather be a siren
dancing with graves
& secondhand glances
as I sing him toward
my waves


perhaps I was not meant
to save


so to hell with the sea
it's his fire that
I crave
A battle rages all around me
I stand alone amidst the storm.
The banner that I bear aloft
Is savaged by the raging wind.
The words I scream into the dark
Are lost amidst its roar,
My banner unseen, my battle cry unheard.
And yet I fight on.
I’ll scream my message from the rooftops,
Carry the banner until my words are read.
You are worthy.
You are strong.
You are loved.
You are not to blame.
This is for the victims whom no one defends. You are not to blame.
There are still nights that despite my greatest of efforts,
The memories of you sneak out of my eyes and down my cheeks.
People never change.
They just become more of who they really are.
Wine at my lips I listen to KillSwitch.
My curse was your song to me.
I blare it so **** loud my ears begin to bleed.

The lyrics circle me.
They lift me off this ***** floor.
Bringing me back to our memories.
Back to where our hands bared that wedding band. Back to a home of intoxicating kisses and a passion others only dreamed of.
Back down to where I felt at home...

******* it,
Why did I have to listen to this song.
This is not a poem.
This is just a clichè story
About a girl.
A girl who always laugh.
Who always smile.
Who is always full of happiness.
About the same girl
Who also cry every night.
Who's broken inside.
Who always wanted to die.
This is just a clichè story.

This is not a poem.
This is a hidden plot
Of that girl
Living in a clichè story.
Where she enters to the house
Of unexpcted people
They tell nothing to her
That make her so unease
But someone says;
"It is okay to cry if wanted to"
So,
She cry. Cry. Cry. And cry
For the reason of nothing she is crying
They let her cry.
They let her tell her story.
They are just there.
Not just watching,
Not talking.
Not judging.
They are just there.
Not just watching.
Only listening
Only understanding.
They are the people
She always wanted to have.

This is not a poem.
This is just a clichè story,
Having a fake hidden plot—
Let's make it real.
To my unexpected people, THANK YOU :)
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