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Sep 2013
You have me twisted in your mirage of happy endings and love struck thoughts,
In this desert of woes and ruts.

The dust cradles my lips and the sun burns my eyes,
And the dunes devour the lies I tell myself at night when I cry.

I say I'm happy through my teeth,
Because even I don't believe me.

At night the stars are scattered like my brain patterns when I try to put us together.

Maybe it was too soon.
And maybe we moved too fast.
Maybe we hadn't forgotten our pasts,
and we tried to make ourselves forget our lasts.

Or maybe it's the distance ******* with my head, because my lips feel dead,
And my blood was red before it hit the surface,
When I used the blade to try and forget my pain.
Margaret Mary
Written by
Margaret Mary
547
 
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