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You had torrents and storms in your hair Grey dewy eyes that whipped windy stares And at the beginning I didn’t feel the cold weather you brought around with you. you flickered like the hesitant cheap matchstick That resides in between the fingers of the adolescent that doesn’t yet understand Friction Caused by two opposing forces for a reason For an end product, to commit treason But not according to your abundant manual of Do’s and don’ts that mention in the title you’re exempt under the weight of so much paper thin equality chapters damp with words that stank of expectations I found a home under the printed lines of I love you, the running ink dousing me with a blackened perspective on what it was you really wanted for me To give but not receive to be free to talk but not to breathe but everyone knows you require both to form a voice and without that my fingers would slowly snap to the beat that my bones would crack To the rhythm of your whiplash tongue Which would flush waves against the shores that were my shrinking figure The small women you requested at the doorstep of our relationship Has finally shrunk to fit through the keyhole in the shape of your accessory Which is obviously necessary to put up with me.
0
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Friction.
You had torrents and storms in your hair Grey dewy eyes that whipped windy stares And at the beginning I didn’t feel the cold weather you brought around with you. you flickered like the hesitant cheap matchstick That resides in between the fingers of the adolescent that doesn’t yet understand Friction Caused by two opposing forces for a reason For an end product, to commit treason But not according to your abundant manual of Do’s and don’ts that mention in the title you’re exempt under the weight of so much paper thin equality chapters damp with words that stank of expectations I found a home under the printed lines of I love you, the running ink dousing me with a blackened perspective on what it was you really wanted for me To give but not receive to be free to talk but not to breathe but everyone knows you require both to form a voice and without that my fingers would slowly snap to the beat that my bones would crack To the rhythm of your whiplash tongue Which would flush waves against the shores that were my shrinking figure The small women you requested at the doorstep of our relationship Has finally shrunk to fit through the keyhole in the shape of your accessory Which is obviously necessary to put up with me.
pratum
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Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
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