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My dark side and I

were always out of touch

and I've always tried

to leave it as such

but it seems I can't hide

it from showing so much.



My dark side and I

were always strangers,

lonely passers by.

She knows the dangers

of looking me in the eye

and I know I can't change her.



But my dark side

is not raging or unjust.

It's not sloth, jealousy, or pride.

You only have to trust

that my real dark side

is nothing but lust.
You dim the sky
and drown the earth
remind me how I cry
when my chest hurts.

You dampen spirits
and quiet my voice
until you must hear it
and have no choice.

Silence me, rain.
I dare you to try.
Each force of nature in vain
until the day I die.
"You'll be a star," they say,
"you'll make it far, one day."

"You're truly talented," they insist.
But it seems my only talent is to exist.
I know you are trouble,
but perhaps that's why
I am so in love with you.

My heart speeds double
and words fail as I pine
though I know my love isn't true.

And you, dear, you are
just the trouble I need
to spice things up now and then.

So give all the scars
you wish to leave me
and break my heart again.
I would have
stood on the ledge with you
until you got down.

I would have
waited below on the pavement
and caught you.

I would have
dropped to my knees
and begged you to stay.

I would have
been there with you
so you wouldn't be alone.

I would have
jumped for you
so you wouldn't.

I would have
taken your place
if only I had known.
No polaroid could capture
your eyes, or the stars
that freckle them
and do them justice.

No cleverly worded poem
could begin to describe
your ringing laughter
and gentle smile.

No portrait painting
could match the somersaults
my stomach does
when I look at you.

No wind sends chills
down my spine
and warms my face
like your velvet voice.

I could never pine
for anything like I do
your eyes, your smile, your voice,
for nothing holds more value.
I'm speechless.
I try to string together
the words to describe
how I feel.

Destroyed, heartbroken,
devastated, lost.
None of it begins
to explain my grief.

J u s t  c o m e  b a c k.
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