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Literature Text
If I could hold your hand
Just for one last time
And look into your eyes
As you're whispering goodbye
Then maybe I could tell myself
This love was more than real
And stop pretending that what I hope
Is really how I feel
If I could hear your name again
Give in to what I know
Stop holding on to empty thoughts
And beg this time to slow
Then maybe I could tell myself
It's better left alone...
Literature
To Die A Lie
If I was to count
All the thoughts in my head
I fear I'd still be counting
Long after I am dead
I just can't stop thinking
About everything you said
Every sentence you spoke
Was a sentence to death
Just another line
Closer to the end
Between the lines I see
Your creeping deathbed
I may think about death
Far more than I ought
But in the end
It's only just a thought
I thought you understood
But you lie to yourself
Like you do to everyone else
I can't understand it myself
Even lying there
You live in denial
But not for long
In downward spiral
Tangled in your own web
Was it worth the words
Those wasted words you spoke
That only I ever heard
Literature
how to love someone
I grow distraught at the thought
that my words will turn cloy
under the weight of the waterfall
imbued with my saccharine sentences;
as my feelings cascade like a velveteen curtain,
the ineffable emotions cover you like a coat-
they continue to fervently flow,
and become foamy pearls and pebbles
pooling by your feet
I know these waves of water
won’t steal the breath from your lungs,
but rather fill the riverine veins
traveling towards the tributary
of your awaiting heart,
and for this-
I’d rather drown you in affection,
than have a drought.
Literature
intoxication
you are acidic rain seeping into raw wounds in my chest,
and i am too exhausted to push you away
though we both know you will be the death of me.
but in this pain that is wasting away my limbs,
baring my bones to the numbing cold,
leaving me breathless,
in between our heartbeats there is something
like (bitter)sweetness,
something like longing,
for what cannot fill the gaping hollows of my ribcage
still leaves me an aching sort of beautiful.
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It's heart felt!