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the last time he went out of
his mind he liked it
so much there
that he never came back

not even after the
alcohol left
his blood

he keeps writing to this day

addresses women with 'sweangel'
a combination of sweet
and angel, I guess

but never spends more
than a matter of weeks
with any of them

some take pity on him
and some morbid curiosity

but no one loves him
truly
only his insanity
the screen
the keyboard
the small room
the closed door
locked door
closed window
blinders keeping
the sun away
a chair
an empty stomach
protesting against
tequila
more tequila

ready

you can write now
I’m too afraid to turn around
I’m too afraid to see what isn’t there
My footprints, my words, my acts
Washed away by the tides
Of all who were in some way
Better than I
 May 2019 Realeboga M
Molly
Prelude
 May 2019 Realeboga M
Molly
It strikes, not with a gale,
but with a drizzle of cherry blossoms
and a flurry of gentle chords.
 May 2019 Realeboga M
V
Floral
 May 2019 Realeboga M
V
Some people are flowers, meant to be loved from afar.

They shouldn't be plucked, just to die between your fingers.
(Personal vent)
 Apr 2019 Realeboga M
Zywa
Poems are fragile,

they're lapis-lazuli dreams –


of significance.
 Apr 2019 Realeboga M
Zaza
Wish
 Apr 2019 Realeboga M
Zaza
You always said
You would catch me if I fall

I wish I knew
Your arms were as fragile as your voice
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