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Sawyer Nov 2020
It’s quite a task, isn’t it?
To push away the memory of her hands
weaving through your hair, tracing the
line that lead to the nape of your neck,
to suppress a shiver at the distant whisper of
such (undeserved) tenderness.

Why couldn’t you just watch your step,
you wonder,
let sleeping dogs lie.
Nevermind that when you laid down beside her
you woke up with
fleas.

Flee.
No, because you were never strong enough.
What is it that you wanted, you wonder,
and what was it that you got?
Her eyes still stun you, despite the distance.
Was that feeling butterflies, or nausea?

Or was it...love?

What a word, “love.”
And if you loved her,
(my, doubt is such a fickle thing),
is it true that the only return you’d ever see
was her brand of
suffocating intimacy?

Oh, but you craved it, didn’t you?
You spoke your wish out loud
and half-hoped it wouldn’t come true.
You miss the way she held you,
but God,
it hurt so dearly sometimes.

Such desperate selfishness, you realize,
to tell her that you loved her.
Her touch still lingers,
tucked away deep under your skin,
and you can never decide:
reach for it, or push it away?

I wasn’t an ending,
and it wasn’t a goodbye.
Maybe that’s why you still see her smile
in every sunrise,
see her scowl
in every star.

You wonder if you could have kept her.
You wonder, then, if you would have.
You feel her hands in your hair
and her breath on your face,
lay there half-alone and half-asleep,
murmuring your questions to an empty room.
falling out of love is a confusing thing
Delyla Nunez Nov 2020
Same story, girl meets girl then girl turns into boy, April 6, 2020
Exciting changes, wondrous feelings, tremendous *** and so-called happiness.
  she remembers the way you’d hold her; the glint in your dark eyes as you’d kiss her, and her peaceful sleeps.
It would work out in their La La Land, she finally found the one who won’t hurt her because he is also broken and hurt.
Someone who would lift her from the ground after losing all hope that fateful day of April 8, 2018. To be cherished and wanted, with no judgement for her loss.

Lies, miscommunication, and distance July 08, 2020. Holes in walls, doors breaking down. Glass everywhere she looks, two rooms destroyed and looks of fear.
Alcohol is a killer and never to take lightly. Shoving and punches, knifes thrown and cuts on their bodies. This was the first time she left.

Cries of forgiveness, betrayal, distance, “please stay,” “I love you,” and apologizes.
Doubt crawled through her mind every time he spoke those three words. Him telling her how much she meant to him.
No amount of words could save her trust she had to rebuild, the love she gave during his times of destruction, the weakness she felt after that day.
Months of trying, never to satisfy her needs. Constant words of changes and no drive to do so. Being judged for her misfortune and never fully understood. Constantly crying, telling him what needed to be done.

A flick of the switch, morals clouding her mind, her self-worth pushing her out of dark, and her strength returned.
No remorse, no emotion, and no chance to speak again.
She’s gone from his world, leaving for the final time and not looking back.
Pretending to be fine when she cries in her room and is silent.

Now her pillow drips with her heartbreak, of her disappointment, and her dreams and hopes. she looks at his poems still, his glorious words put into words of his own accord.
she says there’s no evidence of their life, she lied. She goes through messages, photos, videos and cries.
No matter how hard she is trying she continues to try and she fails. she fails every time.
her “hate” driving her to be better without him. her fear of breaking down, keeps her away from him. He tells her he loves her still.. she breaks every time she doesn’t say it back.

With a snap of her fingers, she is back to the way she was. Her split feeling of hurt gone, emotions turned off for she can’t control them herself.
FinkZ Nov 2020
Walk away, for I stopped caring
Just go, don't look at the mirror
Go with the man with a golden ring
I'll be happy alone with the bottles

*****, wine and whiskey
Drunk, wasted and tipsy
The moon is waiting for me there
With the green fairy in her lair

If my organs can't take it
I can change it
Took me a thousand dollars just for her skin
But my alcohol only wants Benjamin Franklin
Though you once had control of me with a twitch of your hand,
I’ve now cut the strings that tied your hand to my heart
Dream Oct 2020
Don't you worry, my love, I'm doing just fine.

I smile all day and I take my tablets at night.

I talk all day and I flood my pillows at night.

Don't you worry, my love, I'm perfectly fine.
Thank you for your concern.
Esther L Krenzin Oct 2020
she wanted me
to change my size for her
like i was an wrong pair of shoes
but it wasn’t me
that didn’t fit
i had outgrown her
a long time ago

Esther L. Krenzin
SpiritHeart67 Oct 2020
It's so strange
My love for you
Entangled deep within my soul,
Knowing it
And my longing for you
will never end.

And at the same time
You are the very last thing
I'd choose to have
in my life.

So I just sit
In this state of
Conflict.
Bri Stokes Sep 2020
Somone
some day
might love me;
might gaze beyond
the terror
and doubt;
the walls that stand
like angels and gods,
shielding me from
all the Bad Things of Before.

Someone
might say I'm enough,
and make excuses for the pain
I inflict--
for the icy,
blood-soaked
blade
I brandish so easily.
The thousand cuts
that lead them
to their ends.

Someone might open my chest,
see the rose-colored
soul
that shivers there:
the terrified child crouching in shadow,
and long to comfort
and give her
a home.
To shower her
with recognition
and acceptance.
To promise peace
and eternity
and the weight of gold
in an undeviating
kiss.

But for now,
I know only memories.
Only the cold,
dawning
glow
of regret.
The sting of curiosity
behind a cracked
and dust-sopped
window.
The horror
and tragedy
in Truths I cannot challenge.
Bri Stokes Sep 2020
In veiled,
onyx
lace,
I chase your ghost
in scores immeasurable,
in crescendoes
of yesterday
and shivering
melodies
of dreams.
The contours of your flesh:
a refrain of constant agony,
solace withered
by ancient hymns
of how you'd kiss me in the dark.
You--
in your cheap,
tweed
suit.
With your history books
and cigarettes
and your drab apartment
off of Sunset,
where the August sun
would teem
through windows
in perfect
bursts
of chaos.
Particles that mapped
perfect roads
paved with ivory skulls,
arching along the
highway
and drifting down
to the Kingdom of Death:
the gilded streets of Hollywood,
so oppressive,
my mind has not left.
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