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Danielle Witt Mar 2019
I have heard of the horror stories
Of those who were just trying to break free
From those addictions
That had drained their host for so long.

Never believing I could be one of those pale, hollow bodies
Until it was 4 am,
And a text from you
Has yet to darken my home screen.

Tremors quaked through my limbs.
Not even my pleading mind could stop
The seismic waves created by
The heart of a lonely soul.

I needed my fix.

My stomach cried as it demanded to be drained
Even though its argument with Mind
Had already left it very empty.
It refused to be silent.

Anything to relieve the pain.

Mind is perhaps the loudest in this catastrophic event.
Altered happy memories are shown as a movie marathon;
The insults were merely commercial breaks.
However, the toxicity and the fights were hidden behind the stage curtains.

A second of weakness is all it takes.
As the phone’s dial tone ends,
A sleepy “hello” flows out of your mouth
And into my vein...

Quiet.
Then compete and utter bliss.
Danielle Witt Feb 2019
There is a boy I know;
Who has a war raging inside of him.

One side comes armed with swords of memories past;
Riding on navy blue serpents.
They attack in the heart of the night
As the moon cast down its sorrowful gaze.

The other side is vastly outside numbered;
We are a rag-tag group with only a few daggers,
But many shield.
As hard as we try, the Night-attackers occasionally slip through.

Time ticks by,
We slowly make progress.
I can only hope that that some day
The darkness disappears.
Danielle Witt Feb 2019
She came floating in
Her presence felt by all those around.
She tosses her hair and teases her fans.
This past love of a love of mine.

Dances from place to place
On the affection of her loves,
Never looking back
Not believing in mistakes.

Feathers of turquoise and emerald
She holds her head high,
For she is a great peacock
The past love of a love of mine.

I am but the swan in the lake.
A body of white, a beak of gold
Some say graceful, other say gauche
Though I have found my Neuschwanstein.

Everything I am is for him
So now I am sure
She will only ever be
A past love of a love of mine.

— The End —