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  Jun 2015 Nikita
NV
SWEETHEART,

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE CURE.

AND

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE DISEASE.
  Jun 2015 Nikita
Mike Essig
Poetry is a river running.

You know it is there and
sometimes you take
long walks on its banks.

One day, a Muse emerges
and calls out your name
in a magikal language.

Suddenly, you know
where you belong.

You jump in, surface,
roll over and float,
but remain immersed
for the rest of your life:

mesmerized, flowing,

speaking only in poems.

  ~mce
  Jun 2015 Nikita
SeyiEagle
Each time i hear you are not well,
my eyes can't blink even while on bed.
Hearing you're sick, i don't need to think,
everyone know clique rhymes with quick.
The ill have made you shrink,
get up, and do these for my sake.
get well soon

You don't know how you look now,
your beauty had been tampered,
the look on your face doesn't fit,
like working in place with no rate.
rise up and bounce to your feet,
all you need is little faith.
get well soon.

i know you'll be missed in your office very well,
imagine the work undone while you're not there,
stand up and wipe your face clear,
sound health i wish you dear.
No other ladies can compare,
'cause your kind is so rare.
Please get well soon.
Nikita Jun 2015
You creep me the **** out okay
Nikita Jun 2015
I swear laughter is medicine
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