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Poetress2 Mar 2019
You and I are different,
not cut from the same cloth;
We **** heads everyday now,
both wanting to be the boss.
~
You have your set of interests,
and I have my own too;
Together we are night and day,
things we have in common are few.
~
We simply have no chemistry,
and a lack of passion we share;
The tension felt between us both,
lingers heavily in the air.
~
It's not often we see "eye-to-eye,"
so we happen to clash every time;
For when you're angry, you explode,
while I simply sit there and cry.
~
Pain we've both dealt ourselves,
is not easy for us to forget;
It holds us down like an Anchor,
and we drown on our own regrets.
~
No longer can we feel our love,
that use to stick like glue;
Perhaps it died, along with trust,
each one of us once knew.
sian Mar 2019
It’s difficult, the thing we call trust,
It’s hard when it’s broken,
The worries it brings,
It follows you around,
Abruptly approaches you, when you don’t expect, when you’re not prepared,
But it’s always there to remind you,
Of that putrid feeling,
On an empty stomach,
That shock,
Betrayal,
The sadness
Trust is necessary in guiding
The ink to give meaningful forms
To words written in darkness.
EmVidar Mar 2019
She thanked me
for teaching her
to love herself again
when the only reason
I loved myself
was because of her

-em vidar
to my friend, I hope you remember what you mean to me
Sabrina Mar 2019
Can someone please tell me
What's wrong with me?
I pull someone close then shove them away
But don't let them drown
Holding onto their hand but standing so far away
Begging them not to go
While also wanting my space
I'm scared of loving
And letting others in
I wanna trust him
So why can I not
Let my past sins go?
memoona kazmi Mar 2019
talk to them,
but never trust them,
A Simillacrum Mar 2019
Welcome back from the break.
Last time I checked, I was a social outcast,
now I'm a godless heathen by margins
too expansive to measure.
You expect me to do what?
Break down, scrape my face with a muzzle?
No, I think for my sake,
I will embrace disdain,
disgrace, displacement, as if my blood is
dependent on it, just less than water.
Welcome back to
the decadent disaster,
robotic masterpiece of emulation,
emulating emotion it once contained.
It was exposed to Alexithymia,
undiagnosed for too long,
and can't grasp that anyone might return
feelings of love, lust, or interest,
with any sincerity.

Please, touch my face.
Draw me out, as if your hands were the pens
bringing life to still frames.
Please, touch my skin.
Make promises that my rusted metal
must hold more than debris.
Erian Rose Mar 2019
You lost my trust
And you lost me too
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