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i'm lying here
in my bed
trying to forget you
but i'm finding
that it's impossible
when the only thing
i know how to do
is crave you
 Oct 2017 abi evans
Cynthia Jean
"In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."

John McCrae
During World War I, a Canadian Expeditionary gunner and medical officer, John McCrae, fought in the Second Battle of Ypres near Flanders, Belgium.

Describing the battle as a "nightmare," as the enemy made one of the first chlorine gas attacks, John McCrae wrote:

"For seventeen days and seventeen nights none of us have had our clothes off, nor our boots even, except occasionally. In all that time while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds...

And behind it all was the constant background of the sights of the dead, the wounded, the maimed, and a terrible anxiety lest the line should give way."


Finding one of his friends killed, John McCrae helped bury him along with the other dead in a field.

Noticing the field covered with poppy flowers, he composed the famous Memorial Day poem, "In Flanders Fields":
I came across a picture of you
It was a picture of you
With some other girl
I looked at it
And looked at it
And looked at it
Funny thing is
I couldn't feel anything
I didn't feel anything
I swear to you, I tried
I wanted so bad
to be jealous
Because you're mine
And only mine
But guess what
That never happened
I never felt jealous
I guess I realized long ago
That you'll be there
Around every corner
And that you'll come for me
Whenever possible
But, pal
You sure as hell
Ain't mine
 Oct 2017 abi evans
Hope White
I didn't even ask
To be your sun
Or your moon.

All I wanted
was to be
Your Sunday afternoons.

How many empty calendars spaces
I wasted,
Waiting for you.
I remember the way
the alcohol
lubricated our words to each other
and she told me those three
poisonous words:
"I love you"
Except she added
my name to the end
to make sure I knew
how important it was.
"You're the only
person I've said that to,"
She told me that night
as we parted ways

The next day she told
me that it didn't count
and that she was being
dramatic
and I remained in place
amongst those
who function better
as shadows,
withering under her
light,
hoping to hear the
meaningless words
again.
 Oct 2017 abi evans
CamiliaMhd
Both
 Oct 2017 abi evans
CamiliaMhd
She is both,
hellfire and holy water.
And the flavor you taste,
depends on how you,
treat her.
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