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WCA Mar 2019
Her illness is her inexplicable and unwavering fortitude

It acts as both a shield and a sword

And on occasion

A dagger in the back.

WCA Sep 2018
It was chaos, fire and red.

Until it was ice, cold and blue.

And oh, what I would do, if I only knew,

That this was all a game to you.


The truth of it is:

I would have fallen all the same.
WCA Jun 2018
I did not know that that would be the last time I saw you.

I wish I had known.

I wonder what I would have done differently.


"I'll call you tomorrow."
WCA May 2018
Step by step
As I descended
Despite the ache in my bones
And the weakness of my heart
I thought of all the things I could have said
And all you could have done.

You were everything to me,
Everything I wanted to come home to
Everything I never wanted to leave.
And it is a strange feeling
Watching something never quite real fade away
Step by step.


"It's getting late."

"Don't go just yet."
WCA May 2016
And for a moment I caught myself,
In the perils of hope,
Waiting for something unobtainable.
Something that never quite existed.

Wondering through it all,
Through the doubt and regret,
If you had caught yourself in that moment too.

*"Will you call me in the morning?"
WCA May 2016
I can see it within his steps,
And how they are no longer in rhythm with mine.

I can see it in the absence of his smiles,
That he is further away, that I can not see him anymore.

I can hear it in the sharpness of his tone,
The way it strikes into my bones.

I can feel it in his absence in the night,
For although he is near, I am still cold and wanting.

That there may yet be something lingering, between the silence and the sheets, but it is foreign, it is no longer love.
WCA Oct 2014
This is a story of a quiet tragedy,
The kind of tragedy that you don’t really notice all that much,
Until you do.
Until you notice.
And the folly of it is knowing that you can’t take that realization back.
This is a story of a boy and a girl.
For the boy loved the girl for a very long time.
And after a very long time she began to love him back.
She gave up everything for him, every freckle.
She compromised herself.
Unraveled herself,
Unchained herself from her loneliness.
She gave him her heart,
A terribly fragmented and tortured *****, not worth a dime,
But a heart all the same.
She hid her broken fears and began to smile when she saw him.

She let herself think of him at night.
She began to remember the breath of his fingerprints.
Yet she had given up so much in the search of love,

(She gave up everything).
She became a martyr to love.
And yet, when she turned to witness all that she had done,

Standing on the parallels of perpetual happiness and sorrow,

She noticed with a sigh,

That there was nothing left.

But a lonely grave,

And a certain emptiness,
An emptiness she was all too comfortable with.
An emptiness that stood on the rumble of emotion.
A emptiness that told of a tiredness,
A quiet.

She felt everything yet nothing at all.
She will remember that nothingness for the rest of her life.
This isn't a **** poem,
But I feel it and isn't that enough.
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