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Literature Text
won't I always
be so happy
to waste my last
12% of battery on you,
even if I end up biking
home alone for
a few miles
I'll know that you
are blind to the fact
that you have me wrapped around
your fucking fingers
and I'll just text you all
of the time, waiting
for you to realize that
I would do anything you say.
now bare with me
because I am so unfaithfully excited for you
to reply and say something like
"tell me the truth"
this way I can have a chance to say
"i'd really like to date you,
and hold your hand this time"
before you can think
"maybe we're just friends"
be so happy
to waste my last
12% of battery on you,
even if I end up biking
home alone for
a few miles
I'll know that you
are blind to the fact
that you have me wrapped around
your fucking fingers
and I'll just text you all
of the time, waiting
for you to realize that
I would do anything you say.
now bare with me
because I am so unfaithfully excited for you
to reply and say something like
"tell me the truth"
this way I can have a chance to say
"i'd really like to date you,
and hold your hand this time"
before you can think
"maybe we're just friends"
Literature
L over
Time passes and I still end up saying your name, when I told myself I wouldn’t let it slip out of my lips.
Memories are still clear as ever, painfully so, although they’re starting to merge into one colossal dream that managed to become a nightmare in a matter of seconds.
I wonder if you wonder, the way I wonder.
I wonder if this is just a writers mind.
Lost, confused, scared, hurt, sad, lament, pain, excuses, replaying, broken, worthless.
–– These are just some of the words that come to mind, when I think of our final chapter. They taste rancid in my mouth, and I spit them out on days I remember our story.
Your f
Literature
he saved me
, but he killed me.
_
i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest.
it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes
you walked out, your five year old eyes greener than
sunlit saplings
you reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me.
"what's your name?"
daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.
I looked at the rose in my hand.
"Rose."
you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.
i didn't understand
but I knew.
ii. i forgot about you for
1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,
you shouted
my name, but i didn't recognize you
until i saw your
Literature
...
I didn't
build
this castle
so you could
sit on
your throne
of
lies.
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Comments5
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Just found this one. Yeah, well, it goes both ways; and it can go the opposite way -- both people restraining themselves so much that you don't know what the other person feels on any given day, and you get totally preoccupied with whether or not they think of you the same way, and all that crap -- it's exhausting.