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One day I visited the graveyard
My face all covered by a hood
Looking at all the stones so hard
On all of them, my name it stood

They all standing in a long, long line
One stone for every time I'd lied
Lied about being all great and fine
One stone for every time I'd died

If I'd only been true to myself
It's too late, I can't be mended
I wouldn't put me on the shelf
I guess now my life has ended
 May 2016 Malin Eriksen
Barker
Her heart was full of bookmarks
From those who had once loved her pages,
But not enough to finish what they had started.
 May 2016 Malin Eriksen
Just Me R
I dipped my fingers in still waters
And watched the ripples of my intrusion
 May 2016 Malin Eriksen
Rapunzoll
i raised her
with a violent birth
my vocal cords tangled
like a drunk couple
making love
with her name.

she emerged from
the slit in men's throats,
a grown woman,
her sister followed,
from suffocated coughs,
glowing like streetlamps
from mouth to mouth,
never happy,
never settled.

girls like her,
they don't enter this
world easy,
they leave it in a mess,
exit it like a highway,
move on to the
next place.

there's a stain they
always leave,
yellow on the teeth,
marks on bed-sheets,
empty rings on
bedsides with last
nights drink
gone cold just like
their feelings.

just a girl they say,
harmless,
girls have endless love
in their hearts,
and endless hate.
© copyright
nothing feels quite like you do
at 5 am when you lay your arms across mine, wrapped tight around your waist
nothing feels like snowy thruways at 8 am and the car heater at midnight, the only reason leaving your bed feels good is because I’m leaving it with you
nothing feels like everything because I feel everything with you
things I’ve never felt before and peace I never knew
you’re nothing to some people and everything to me
everything you have is nothing others see
when everything you are becomes everything you were, and when nothing can change the everything I want to become a blur
remind me that nothing feels quite like you
and it’s something to hold on to
that doesn’t quite burn like we had to.
This time last year I was writing letters
Apologising for the way I feel
And the way I have always felt
Trying to shift blame onto my own selfish consciousness
And the methods to drown it out
Methods that left more than just physical scars
This year I am no longer writing letters
But every breath is like swallowing glass
My heart beats languid and slow
Every cell of me is fatigued
I sleep all the time and I never feel awake
Fully consumed in the guilt of who I am
And how it must hurt people to love me
So no, I am no longer writing letters
But I am still revising the words.
I wanted to be better
I should have been better
It isn't getting better
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