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because his songs make me write

remember?

 

you left a mark, blood, scars, a touch

all over just every where

 

i grew older and younger carrying holding these things you had me hold and i drank them all in and they were a part of me, me

 

your photographs are so pretty so very truly lovely and the black and white

the black and white always did **** me i loved the nostalgia you see because nothing makes me cry

 

like that citrus sharp twinge of the old, the fading, the forever gone and lingering inside, outside infused in the rain pouring itself inside me. the decades haunt me, will always haunt me, travelling like happiness inside a musty ruin

 

the hollow needles of desire they pierce the sunshine mundanity of my everyday, everyday has these little holes now and they look like you and anything

 

anything that looks like you is just too much too very much it makes the sunshine melt into clouds and burn brighter. at the same time

 

at the same time is what confounds compels rivets and other lovely words me. how?

 

How can this be joy, joy so overwheleming while it leaves me ravenous and aching so deep i can taste the shadows of your soul in mine

 

i remember

 

i remember too much and too little and these absurd oxymorons can be the title of everything of me of you and that space between, the space was magic when i was a wind breadth away from your finger tips; the space a gaping hole now so black that i'd need another language, an epithet to make it real

 

rainbows and butterflies and sexhappy peanut butter.

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Written by
gemma-1
Published
Jun 26, 2012
Lines·Words
14·276
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