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ally m Sep 2014
there’s a living forest inside your eyes,
a forest where blackbirds sing about
all the fallen pieces of yours
that you never dared to catch.
ally m Sep 2014
the question of “what if”
stays in my mind
and haunts me at night.
ally m Sep 2014
when the morning is so cold,
the only warmth is the beating heart next to yours.
ally m Sep 2014
it’s been so long.
you have forgotten about me,
and I have stopped writing about you.
ally m Sep 2014
The ghost of you stands behind me,
plays with my hair
and grips my neck.
ally m Sep 2014
The silence lingers.
The skin of hand dryly stained in faded blue ink,
nostalgically resembling the joyful youth of veins.
There is nothing optimistic about this protraced reality.
ally m Sep 2014
Your favorite poems are what echoes
inside the blackness of your heart.
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