I like grey skies
No moon, no stars
Just us
No hope in this world
But us
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How much can I write about a pain that refuses to lessen? Sometimes I think it will be easier to drink the ocean than to sink and sink further.
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I came wounded
To the shore.
Sure, it was foolish,
To hope,
To be soothed,
To be cradled,
To know less aches;
Lighter on the waves.
But I was too wounded,
Abrasions and bruises.
Surprise! I dived! I cried!
It burns, even the ocean.
I lost a bit of you and you lost a bit of me, all in translation.
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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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Forgive me for seeing beauty in your sufferings, when there was only cruelty.
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Stills don't honour
The beauty you hold
The moon knows this best
Every moment she owns the sky
She waxes and she crests
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Almost and always
She tempts me
To be as cold as her
Winter, in all her beauty
Haunts me too
As she slowly dies with the dew
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I forgot to love myself
Fearing vanity
Truth be told
It wasn't mine
Only your
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I am him
Because like Antonio
'In sooth I know not why I am sad.'
I am weary till I am distraught,
Though my sunken ships never see the shore.
- reign