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Tell me a little bit about you
Enough for me to ask for more
A bit by bit to keep the interest
But not too much to become a bore

Tell me a little bit more about you
Just enough to keep the score
So you don’t hold it against me
Of who, knew who, more

Tell me just one more thing about you
Another one thing you can’t bare
One last try to get to know me
Since you never cared to know me at all
I hear nothing from you
No just a text to say hi
Or even a how you doing ?
But then ....***.....
That's all
So you think
that will get me to respond
Sorry ....
I spent 7 yrs lovin' you
Still do
Sorry ....
I'm to expensive
You can't afford me
I need a how r you
A thinking about you
At least once in awhile
Cause , I'm worth it
So go *** yourself
© J DeLong 2/3/21
anica Feb 18
the little fragments of our memories
fills me up as its hard to miss.

the silent confirmation only we can understand;
reminds me of how you hold my hand.

when we meet eye to eye,
its like looking at the wide blue sky.

how you utter with such softness
makes my heart speak though it cannot express.

however a clandestine should not last;
it must always stay in the past.

a secret like this should go astray
for it will perish as it's fey.

nevertheless, I'll still cherish
every moments even if I have to be selfish.
Eola Feb 17
Woe is me
The satan of earth
I come bearing gifts of knowledgeable ignorance
And weep with tears by seeing my predictions come true

Woe is me
The one who thought only about himself
And neglected to see the other
The one with a heart vulnerable and ready to be stabbed

Woe is me
Because when others hurt I feel pain too
But I repeat this cycle constantly
Of hurting me
and in turn
It's hilarious how one can be so stupidly selfish but keep getting hurt by it
Moomin Feb 1
Why should I?
Who says so?
What's the point?
Is it worth it?
Who cares?
Can't be bothered
Too much effort
Maybe tomorrow
If you like
Be my guest
Try - shmy
Best – shmest
Work – shmirk
Rules - shmules
Conscience - shmonscience
Life - shmife

The moon is my sun,
The night is my day,
Blood is my life,
And you are my prey.
Tell me a story of how much the sun loved thy moon so much, that he died every night just to let her breathe. But why **** thyself when you can keep the moon from the skies and the stars all for yours to see? My moon is mine. No other sky shall she rise without me, no other stars shall share her sky with. Only the sun, only me, only mine.
You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent, the more selfish. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me, and hating me through death and after.
excerpt from carmilla, joseph sheridaan le fanu (1872)
Vinolin D Jan 26
The Leader in the country, who doesn't care about the people' needs
The police who don't care about the crime
The Richman who doesn't care about the poor people
The MD who doesn't care about the employees
The people who don't care about others' struggles
The friends who don't care about their friends situation
The person who doesn't care about breaking others' heart after getting their needs
Are the leeches, And stick on the skin to **** the blood to improve their selves.
I hope u will love this guys...please comment your feedback.
ju Jan 15

As I tidy, I organise time in little pill-pockets, sweep debris from sills and tables. I dice their cravings and fancies into some sort of meal, and wash nine hours of lines trod and toed from my clothes, ready for morning.  

These things make me feel needed, and I resent them as though they are chains. Do you draw me as selfish?


As I rest, I see my oldest cup with my keys; my coat and cleaned-boots left by the radiator gathering heat, and I wrap myself in a patchwork of dreams. I catch a wink - my favourite colours - beaded from the heartbreak-dark of a room.

These things make me feel loved, and I breathe them as though they are air.
Do you draw me as ungrateful?


As I watch, I turn my reflection this way, that way, pile ink-hair on her crown. I imagine my burgundy dress fall over her hips to the floor -  reveal to my mind the vanity of sheer-stockings and dark eyelash-lace on porcelain skin.    

These things make me feel beautiful, and I miss them as though they are dead.
Do you draw me as shallow?

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