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Harmony Nov 2015
Stepping onto leaves thinking of raking them later
Ocean of dry leaves posing the question to her
Where would you start, pretty miss of yonder
How would you finish it all before dinner

Oh I'd start way back in the south corner
Where the old cabin shed stores the rake
Thinks she of her afternoon's tedious chore
Wishing that she could set the piles on fire

Alas, it's dreaded to have outdoor fire
For fear it would burn down more than you desire
Back where I'm from that would be campfire
Here I'd better bag'em for easy transfer

Stepping onto leaves thinking of raking them later
Ocean of dry leaves posing the question to her
Where would you start, pretty miss of yonder
How would you finish it all before dinner
Ashley Grey Nov 2015
All that I done for you
So many I cannot count
I hope you'd care for me too
But my wishes, to you didn't amount
The energy I spent, I time I gave
You took, oh so eagerly
But it was your turn, you saved
And hid everything selfishly
Is it wrong to ask the same
Or if not a little more?
Do you think my love's a game?
Why is giving such a chore?

Perhaps I've been blinded to see
All your self-conceitedness
In truth, you never loved me
A thief of love and innocence
mk Aug 2015
saturday night dates
turn to tv dinners

you forget when the last time
he surprised you with roses was

you no longer wake up
to make him breakfast before work

he no longer calls you
in the middle of the day
unless, of course,
it's to remind you to pick up his laundry

dressing up
is limited to social gatherings
you're in your jammies when he gets home

*** becomes routine
it's no longer passionate, more like a tiresome duty

your **** lingerie is pushed to the back of the closet
& truthfully, he doesn't seem to care much

you'd rather be on the phone
than talking to each other

you don't crave him the way you did
he's no longer interested in the world inside your head

"how was work?" "fine"
"how are you?" "okay"


he tells you he loves you
but it doesn't mean much anymore

honestly speaking, its all become a bore
being with him just means more chores

i guess that's the thing about love
it wears out
*the magic can only last so long
// like colors that fade away in the sunlight, they're nothing special like they used to be //
Sarah Jones Dec 2014
Hanging with friends,
Feeling sinks it.
It creeps then consumes.
Fake a laugh,
Give a smile.
They don’t need you.
They don’t want you.
You’ve seen it before.
Being with you is a chore.
Andrew Durst Apr 2014
I never asked
for anyone to
bend over
backwards
or make sure
that I was okay.

I never asked
for the creaking
floorboards that
keep me awake
as I toss and turn
at night.

I never
wanted to be
stricken by the
fear that I can
never let go.

But I will.

Because I
never wanted
to hold on
in the first
place
and I never
wanted
a reason to
complain.

I never asked to
    be drunk;
    I planned
    on it.

The moonlight
shining in from
my fourth story
window
is fading
from the rim
of my glass,
so I can't
see what exactly
lies in front of me.

Making my way to
the bed so I can
rest once again
has become more
of a chore than
a peaceful thought.
Inspired by Bukowski.
Just that kind of day.

— The End —