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megan hazel Apr 2016
I wonder if you have any idea of what you’ve done
You think that I think that I have won.
I have not won.
And you, dear, you are not fooling anyone.
I let you in and you became a hurricane,
destroying with no aim,
turning a paled eye to my face,
you’d say your words,
you’d shoot your mace,
And you say I was the winter breeze that shook bare your trees,
killing your vibrant reds of Autumn leaves,
But Autumn leaves are already dying, you see
I didn’t see what you’d make out of me.
You’d create a shadow of a cold candle,
burnt out,
smokey thoughts billowing around my head
ceasing to leave
in the dizzy hours of the morning until i have gone through and picked out the stitches of every word of every conversation id sewn together with you,
finding nothing but two children with no one longing for someone who would not leave.
I cannot believe that I did not see
your slurring, grim toxicity,
I wore a bullet proof vest around everyone i knew
no one saw underneath,
yet for you, I put forth my shattered youth,
to you, I exposed the truth
and put the vest away
and in the beginning we fixed each other,
we wrapped ourselves in blankets of the other’s colors
but by the end, the blanket’s colors began to bleed with our own

You distracted me from the
dead hiding in the (hellish) words you put in my head
by the illusion of warmth
In your fiery shades of orange,
I did not notice my shades of blues,
you would melt me,
or I would extinguish you.
megan hazel Apr 2016
In that moment, her face is so close to mine.
She’s talking, and she’s talking, in a softer than native tongue,
and though I understand, I am not listening.
I’m preoccupied,
slowly watching the last of my oxygen float away,
brushing across my cheek until slowly,
it drifts to the surface of her eyes, surrounded by blue, and an inklike iris.
below these puddles on her face was milky skin,
dotted with molecular shades of auburn spilled across cheeks, and a nose crinkled in laughter, spilling from the curve of slightly chapped lips
Hair the yellow-white of flutterbye roses laced between her fingertips in brief waves, rolling past her shoulders and resting softly by her side.
But this is all but a moment, worded as a stare
a moment unobserved, and unrequited by the girl who for an instant took away my air
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ideas for a title escaped me, but here you go i guess.

— The End —