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I would say I miss you,
But that would be a lie right,
same as the lies of “you’re beautiful”
and “I love you” coming out of the lips of men I poured everything into but those were my mistake to mull over. My past for me to dissect. And the hurtful things I told myself, I could take, I was never as cruel to disguise judgement for caring. There was only so much hurt one person could carry,
only so many times I could be cut open by one person and stitched back up to hear them say they fixed me. How many times you’d say you’d fixed me, like I was broken? Like my flaws were factory defects but it was fine, you’d accept me cause you knew you could fix me?
The way you’d make it sound like were a Coldplay song. Like the lyrics and you holding my hand could put back together the pieces of a fragile girl torn apart by too many people. You, my savior, put me in cage, reminded me I could not be trusted to make my own choices, because this naive girl had fallen for too many sweet promises and had bad judgment when making my mistakes and you had to come in and fix me. Like I was a broken car and you a mechanic. Like you came in to sweep me off my feet with duct tape and hot glue. My hero. Came on his white horse to fix me and I’d fall at your feet  because after all, you’d put in all the work, right? You put effort into fixing something no one would love anyways. Something that wasn’t yours to fix in the first place and I’m supposed to be grateful? That you remind me who was there to pick up the pieces of every broken heart? That you remind me I’m not good enough, not smart enough to see when someone is lying to me, to see when I’m being played, but they my  mistakes to make. After all, it was me, crying, alone, throwing up in a McDonald’s bathroom, surviving, putting myself back together and you sweeping in to take all the credit for my work and I’m supposed to apologize for not loving you back the way you put effort into fixing me?
Amazing and brilliant
Her sight is sharp and is interacted
My deeper heart calling, "I surrounded"
Her talk is low but is understood
Her hair as the waves once up other downward

She walked as the dear coming to hunt
Not is hunted by she will hunt
All are amused and surely asked
Who is that smart, we must engaged
Get fiancé act or marriage at fast

The crowds get in struggle that will begin
But she goes and evaporates as the vanish
That is the end and the finish
the beauty one comes and says no word. all wants to know and have a look
Mystic Ink Plus May 2019
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Feel the pain
Genre: Dark Abstract
Theme: Tik Tik || Countdown
Susana May 2019
Little rain drops
racing on the window
I would watch them as a child
trying to guess which lucky ******* will win the race
funny thing
I always focused on those two specific drops
as if there weren’t millions of them trying to reach the finish line
well
we’re no different from them
we’re just bigger
and worse
z Mar 2019
as a children we were taught
that boys were not supposed to "pretty"
they were supposed to be handsome,
manly as well as tough,
and a bit rough around the edges

as a children we were taught
that boys were not supposed to be "pretty"
but as you looked at me
glossy lips stained the color of cherries
and laughed as a child would

the sparkle in your eyes had never faded
a smile playing at your lips, you asked
"but i am pretty, aren't i?"
A Simillacrum Feb 2019
If you die tonight,
which god's gonna save you?

I don't believe in a one.

So, you're telling me
you're God, now? You're nothing.

I don't believe in nothing.
Was there meaning in my birth
besides two ******* twenty somethings
playing at love games?

What's the point of human life
when existence is pointless?

Full potential of the pointed mind,
free as it can be, to discern & decide.

Are you warrior,
or are you peacewalker?

Are those the only options?

It separates us,
angel kin & demon.

Circumstantial evidence.
The urge in your eyes to **** is missing.
If we're drawing those lines in the dirt,
I see love in you.
You don't deify or deny -

- here you killed to serve,
yet we're exchanging words.
The End.

Thank you.
De Souza Feb 2019
Love
is a battlefield
we
are flying arrows
when we hit flesh
and one more soldier is down to the ground
heavily armed with dreadful hopes in hand
dead are they
then alive they become
as their blood are pouring down like milk
as they go down in hysterical laughter
they finally make it
we become merely objects
cutting sharp whoever is on site,  
we don’t know what the **** we are doing.
but who is shooting us at the enemy?
who has sharpened us till we bleed? thrown our strengths in the fire
drown them into the water
‘til our wooden bodies get tired
then break
as they get finished?
chanting at fate’s face
the only thing we have held until that very moment
that once and for all
cheaters conquer the world
good ones make it to the finish line.
I feel like love is not our battle. We participate but it isn’t up to us, it happens without our hands involved. Love is something greater than ourselves.
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