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Darling the world was our stage
life brought forth from a dusty page
when you sighed into my ear
before we knew of fear

Now I write distant melodies
of our favorite tragedies
as you leave this life behind
to give yourself peace of mind
Close you weary eyes to look at me
Tell me my love, whatever do you see?
The sun shines slowly on our love
life, flying like a lonely dove

and you, you still look at me
and you, you are all I see
and the sun, burns your lovely wings
and its just as the bluebird sings.
I see a cigarette
It's almost disappointing how many times
my poetry turns into prose at the mention
of a cigarette

because they represent everything I long for
in the wrong ways
and they taste so good
but they're not something I would die for

instead they remain in the past
or the present or in the **** presence that rings
softly in my ears begging me to come back
to quietly but swiftly move past
(We prefer to be referred to as LDS, but for anyone wondering it stands for latter day saint, as in the church of Jesus Christ of latter day saints, often referred to as Mormons.)
Often times I wonder
as I sit in my little car
in my little town
with my little friends

if the world is bigger than I?

Then I realize this life is too short to squander
and the past is now too far
to keep yesterdays frown
for life never truly ends

And I smile secretly at the sky

They tell me that the romantics
had a curious way about
the way they loved and hated
and the things of which they wrote

Their love is better best forgotten now

Still they amazed me with their antics
their scandals the world still loves to shout
the way they so simply and wordily stated
like the world's chaos was their little note

So in their image, do I dare to grow?
This is what I get for reading Woodsworth too young, though honestly darling, is it ever too young to go against the flow?
The eyes close in discontent
At least I don't pay the **** rent
supposedly sobbing and suffering aren't sufficient
for a highschooler without serious intent
My boyfriend said it was sad
I didn't write poetry like I had
when we met

I couldn't find the words to tell him
that the words felt like stabs gone crim-
son after the knifes movement was set

so what does that say about me now?
that I write with passion I don't know how
to express without regret
I'm sorry if I'm too easy
for a friend of a friend
but i get too queasy
trying to play pretend

see I've been playing this game
shove in the tape hit re-wind
enough to know nothing ain't the same
so come on over and tell me what to find

it starts out slow
enough to let you think
then right before you know
the world begins to sink

my laughs contagious when I laugh at everything
call me crazy or a pick me up too
he won't bring a diamond ring
but we smile and say boohoo
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