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  Jul 2018 Grownoutofpain
Seazy Inkwell
There will come a day
When we would no longer be the same
> when wrinkles and creases
like ivies caress your forehead
> when the bitterness of this world
eats you away like leprosy
> when pain and darkness
swill out your features
like this everlasting wave of time

< I would still know this smile, this wink,
this laugh out loud

< I'd know you by your love of little things
< the eyes that are turned toward the sunshine
< the ears tuned toward the fireworks
< the shallow voice and deep words

< Then I'd know it'd be you
< I'd search you amid the crowds
< Then I'd turn my head in shame and joy
< Finding someone like you

<For this is far greater,
> than the distance, the chasm of hearts, aged times,
> and your hatred
> that separates us
have you ever liked an author so much that you wished he/she could be here with you?
I
Sat bored in chairs, I
Watch the potted leaves growing
Like my impatience

II
Keep reading my work
And I'll watch my flowering
Narcissism bloom

III
Tell me I am good
Please tell me that I am good
I am good... aren't I?
Fitzrovia, London, July 2018
  Jul 2018 Grownoutofpain
Adya Jha
Turn me into a metaphor
Any metaphor, I don't care which one
Either I'm the raging storm or the silhoutte against the moon
I'm the sunshine on your wet hair or the rain drowing you
I don't ask for your love
Just make me into a literary device
Pen me on paper
That is the only way I'll feel alive
When your words caress my presence even if your hands don't
When I will be immortalized in your works
I don't care if you stay with me for eternity or let me go
I want you to remember me and construct me into prose
Which maybe people will recall
And feel something, anything at all
I want you to use me to create that warmth
That sensation that the lonely strive for
So break my heart
Use my pieces to scratch out words
Use my blood to ink them into sheets
I don't care what you do to me
Just turn me into a ******* metaphor
And store me in your poetry
Inspired by Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments by Shakespeare
  Jul 2018 Grownoutofpain
Traveler
For her I played a song of lust
It still haunts me across the years
Caught between severed ties of trust
Like an image between two mirrors

I see her eyes they never change
They still see straight through my soul
She draws me in her vicious game
Such a familiar repeting role

An echo on some distant wind
She draws me back for more
I write a dozen songs to mend
Still my heart's an open sore

The pattern is our worlds collide
They we go our separate ways
Across a sea of inconsistent lies
We ride on different waves
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