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Somedays you are the butcher.
Somedays you are the lamb.
Somedays you are the yearning.
Somedays you are the ******.
Somedays you are the poison.
Somedays you are the wine.
Somedays I am the hurt
of knowing, you will never be mine.
The faux stars in your eyes is but a dreamless paradise.
All the girls I’ve loved
have been blades
that made me bleed poetry.
And darling, you were the sharpest.
My heart is a rebellion
of splayed foot soldier
cocked in red and white
marching like fire ants,
with drums wisped around necks
mimicking the heart’s murmur,
like a slogan of supremacy.

My heart is a rebellion
against my mind;
too often forgetting
I house them both.
These games you played
as a casual reckoning,
never ceasing
for one moment
to think of the mess
you would create.

Oh, darling
What were games to you,
was an endgame to my life.
My mind says no;
wanes to let go,
but then again,
when have I ever listened to it.
My heart says yes;
unbeknownst to myself.
Washed ashore, brawny yet bruised.
A casualty of love;
Of our own misunderstandings,
purloined around our lover's lungs,
in forlorn hope to find ourselves
in comet tails
and wisps of smoke.
We will pick ourselves up
and break in waves,
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