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Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020
Isn't it a pity that,
what she and I have
might be a
foretold; untold tale?

This writhing soul might be a fool to be

- t a n t a l i z e d -

by her honey-like scent,
with the topical rose redolence;
percolating every existing room for air
in my thickly tar-scarred lungs
from every hush of her troubled breath---

only then to realise that

every passing seconds spent

have always been a constellation of

== inane innuendo ==

to pique the lovelorn in me.
There's always something in me that's been worried of her troubled breathing. She doesn't smoke, so I'm concerned. I mean, her lungs aren't tar-scarred like mine.
P.S: I like the smell of her perfume.
TD Jul 2020
I secretly long  
to be loved by a writer..

(then reality strikes)

I snap my compact closed
bury it in my junk drawer

and accept what will never be.
Plot twist* I need to be content that I may never feel I’m a writer despite my inane longing to.
Leal Knowone Jul 2016
I hold you up,
hold you close.
Away from the harms of the inane world
I can not protect you from myself.
I will keep trying to free the Beauty that exist in my mind.
I wish you could get inside, and swim through my thoughts.
float down this stream of consciousness, and blissfully observe the scenery.
You will find many shadowy corners were you may want to tread lightly.
If you traverse these lands,you may make the voyage to the most alluring destinations, were we may find peace.
We can always use a change of scenery
close to me
A small kindness can’t sustain
A screaming, starving child.
One step at a time
Won’t bridge the distance
Between salvation and despair.

I click that button.
I like that you are running to beat cancer,
But you won’t.

The world boils and burns.
I won’t share anymore,
Because I don’t care anymore.
Facebook *******.
Diamond Sparrow Jun 2015
This is an open letter to all of those who don't understand what it means to be tortured by the very person you love
Dear Whoever You Are,
Humans get a sort of deranged pleasure in loving something that kills them. You see darling, each time i run back to him he sweeps me up in his arms and dips me in the forest we once knew so well in the small glow of the burnt out street lamps and sips up all my happiness just to leave my hollow bones and make the moon my perfect company. You see, it still troubles my vacant mind why I always charge back to him but i do it anyway and that, is the most agonizing part about loving someone who kills you.

— The End —