"     I like to think I flow through your mind like blood flo"
olivia grace 

So here I am.
    Within your heartstrings.
     I like to think I flow through your mind like blood flowing through your superior vena cava.

Constant;
And non-chalant.

And there you are.
                    Rolling and rolling and tumbling around the empty train station in my mind.

Like a tumble weed.
Where did you come from?
Were you ever really mine?

What is the color of my eyes?

Grey, like the clouds.
At least that's what they tell me.

But you aren't here very often and only sometimes do you come around with your talent of using words to your advantage even though I'm the only person who sees through your fake persona and too long brown lucious hair.

But this one's for you.

Just like the one I wrote when I first started but that was a different story.
That had a different meaning.
A different message.

That one said;

"I love you."

This one says;

"I still do."

"I don't think you do, I honestly don't,"
Chloe 

The girl standing in the corner, all alone,
Wearing the face kept in a jar by the door,
Cries silently in the night when she's at home,
And nobody's there to see her fall to the floor.

Do you see the pink lines peeking out,
Under thick layers of cotton, in the hot summer day?
Do you hear the sound of her heart,
Cracking, shattering, with every insult she takes?

I don't think you do, I honestly don't,
From the way you stare with scornful eyes,
To the acid that drips from you lips,
I can tell that you don't know what your words can do.

"And we’ll be gone before they can even think"
Melody W 

Memories scattered like driftwood are
dispersed into oblivion by feisty currents
frolicking with these heavy stones

Linger with me in this timeless quiescence;
gingerly pluck teardrop intricacies
from my ebony-dusk saturated hair

In our secret place obscured from judging eyes
No one shall know our names, though even so
names are quite obsolete in this dance of old

Don’t look back, lest you transform into all we abhor;
Cold, unfeeling, settling heavily to the bottom
Clawing - always clawing - but unable to grasp redemption

We must hurry, though, for the tide is rising.
And we’ll be gone before they can even think
of stealing us away.

©MW
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