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Marly May 2016
My smiles are constantly full
My teeth turn into marshmallows and the sun hits so hard they melt and gush down my chin and drip to the pavement
And when my teeth are gone the rusty sockets soak in blood and I. Keep. Smiling.

Smiling so much makes my hair stand on end and my muscles twitch and I taste the sour in the back of my throat
I can't stand authority.
Marly Dec 2015
Can the soul be cremated? Is she still with me?
A once alive body turned into smoldering remains in a matter of moments, residing now on a shelf for all to simultaneously acknowledge and ignore.
Hannah, I miss you incredibly.
Marly Dec 2015
youre a ****** ingrown hair
Marly Dec 2015
In Hebrew,
"Die" translates to "enough".
I have had enough of everything.
My eyes protest when I attempt to take in any more light,
Eyelids drooping lower than my non-existent self esteem.
My indelible experiences on this wretched planet are etched into every bare section of my skin,
Telling even the stories I tried my best to leave behind.
The one thing about misery is that misery loves company,
You are never alone when you're on your premeditated journey to the afterlife.
I haven't written poetry since 2014, maybe early 2015. I thought I should share this, nonetheless.
  Dec 2015 Marly
i can still smell your cologne and taste the sweat on your lips from that day in the sun with the wind pushing us together; so close we were once upon a time, i wonder if i was supposed to learn from your lies or if i'll keep on smelling your scent everywhere i go.
  Jun 2014 Marly
you are not twenty seven years old. you are twenty seven sorrows, twenty seven apologies, twenty seven broken pencils in a coffee mug. you used to keep memories like fireflies in jars, but now, you harvest them like organs, and you can't shake them to make you glow. i stuck a bird in where my heart should be but my pulse still sounds like a dial tone. the way a ticking clock drives a person insane is the way everything falls in love with you. the way everything falls in love with you is the way that delicate things break, and everything is delicate in the presence of a hurricane. you know how to be a storm, but no one loved you enough to show you how be a home, and the foundation you are built on is a broken as our mind - you are held together by tape and tiny hands , you are bound together by apologies and if anyone forgave you, you would simply fall apart. we must fold ourselves seventy seven times and tuck ourselves into the arms of the people we love, in hopes they never learn to read our language, and you are words written in a way that leaves everyone hanging onto each one by the skin of their teeth, even if they don't understand. I hope it's fine if i still try. if you are brave enough to touch the world, you will find that it is constantly on fire, and you never have to ask for a light.
you are not twenty seven years old, you are twenty seven wet matches, twenty seven empty rooms to scream in, twenty seven breakdowns in the bathroom. sometimes you are the sun and you can rise, but you are a deadly comedown (in any event, you are always glowing). I can hear you folding and unfolding like an origami flower, my hands know where you bend even though i have never touched you. i have seen the fear that drips through the cracks in your tough exterior, and i pried apart my own innocence to slip my way inside.  
  how many times do you groan before you finally heave and let the weight **** you? you know, contrary to what is generally believed, love knows bounds very well. it knows them and, it plunges over them, spills and overcomes you and foams around your feet before dragging you out to open see and mocks your cries for help until you finally stop thrashing and succumb to the sick trick that you have fallen for. i used to think love was a steady push and pull, but then i love you; when play tug of war with a ghost, you always end up with enough rope on your side to make a noose out of. i wanted to turn you on, not disgustingly, but in the way that i stumble in the dark, groping the wall for a switch. all of my nerves were hair triggers when you opened your mouth, now they are loud sirens and they scream when you are gone. a barely present as you would like to paint yourself out to be, i have felt you in places that are four dimensional, in the depths of my own murky consciousness that not even i know how to reach. the way a storm busts down a wooden door is the way that you enter a room,  the way you enter me. you know how to bend the light and you know how to break it, too. allow me to envelop myself in you like words in brackets, but never let me speak aloud. how many times can someone caress your jaw until it feels like you've been clocked repeatedly, and how many times can you fall in love with same person before you bust your mouth completely on their shoulder?
even after you have dragged me through this fire and made me bite all of the dust and all of the concrete beneath it, i have still loved you with a mouthful of broken teeth. now i am here to spit them out into your hands and make enough room in my throat to cough up my stifled pride.
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