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I had it all- a touch of faith, your hands on mine, Our love the sweetest taste. Your warmth began to freeze,  your hands strangled, milking the last of my hope, every drop of life, and I was lost. Reflections shattered and scattered. In a single instant I grew, my innocence mangled. Your secrets trapped my tongue, making them my own, unable to utter a sentence, unable to mourn. You never changed, I never tried to make you. You simply didn't grow. My rhythm slowly withered, your grip suffocated, my affection a complex addiction. My black and white, stained in red, indistinguishable and spreading- consuming. Interest fading Into superficial persecution. Taking the place of something Infinite yet indefinite, Beyond our understanding. Worship tastes like servitude. Lust becomes a synonomn For mercy, Love is simply a syllable, And all we do is doubt. Doubt if we're enough, Together or separate, Fulfillment a fairytale Tarnished by simple maturity. Tenderness is an inconvenience, *** a chore , With a seizing heart And grief tinted lips. I can't keep exhaling, And praying you'll be My holy resource, When your love was never pure.
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Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC
From Lover to Last Meal
I had it all- a touch of faith, your hands on mine, Our love the sweetest taste. Your warmth began to freeze,  your hands strangled, milking the last of my hope, every drop of life, and I was lost. Reflections shattered and scattered. In a single instant I grew, my innocence mangled. Your secrets trapped my tongue, making them my own, unable to utter a sentence, unable to mourn. You never changed, I never tried to make you. You simply didn't grow. My rhythm slowly withered, your grip suffocated, my affection a complex addiction. My black and white, stained in red, indistinguishable and spreading- consuming. Interest fading Into superficial persecution. Taking the place of something Infinite yet indefinite, Beyond our understanding. Worship tastes like servitude. Lust becomes a synonomn For mercy, Love is simply a syllable, And all we do is doubt. Doubt if we're enough, Together or separate, Fulfillment a fairytale Tarnished by simple maturity. Tenderness is an inconvenience, *** a chore , With a seizing heart And grief tinted lips. I can't keep exhaling, And praying you'll be My holy resource, When your love was never pure.
b-chapman
Written by
30/F/Memphis
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC
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