My love was a dream
So fulfilling that after it
All reality could give
Fell short
And nothing in this empty world
Could ever hold
The serendipity
Of my humble dissociation
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It just so happens that I am filled with such unclaimed misery, I am convinced I smell of asphodel. There the pain, cumulative of all lives lived, is mine. Though not in flesh, it blooms for me, fresh.
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I want to be like the tides, gentle and roaring. I would try to kiss the moon in one blink and come crashing down in another. But I am not that free. I am this little plant that seeps and stays. My smile depends upon the skies. Even if I hate to admit it, the winter solstice makes me long for warm lights.
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Slytherin: The next time I’m opening up to someone is my autopsy.
I forget most in madness, sickness of my heart washes over these delicate memories I hold till they aren't. But something tells me, I will remember you, not as a warning, never that, more like warmth. I will know you as my gentle sun, less harsh than the real one.
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If there is an afterlife
I will spend it
Finding a love letter
In those eulogies
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Oh! She is steep,
The kind that makes you yearn
And fearful to leap;
Because one second
She'll show worlds of looming glory,
And in another you're consumed and spent.
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I am tired of seeing you in my dreams. I don't want to walk through this memory with the ghost of you again. To see you smile, to see us back underneath the summer sun, is agony. To recall my name, from broken pitches of your last remembered voice, is agony. With that said, again I will wait for you in my dreams tonight.
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Indeed I am
Lady in waiting
For a highness I met
Once in some dream
Had a conversation in whispers
Amused my Liege
Now I am left on seen
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I weep in rememberance of the ache that once existed. Not before. I wait for it to die, then I cry for the sapling that grows on its burial floor. This doesn't save me from pain, it just spares no mercy. So I lament for what is and once was.
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I like grey skies
No moon, no stars
Just us
No hope in this world
But us
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