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 like grey skies
No moon, no stars
Just us
No hope in this world
But us
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If there is an afterlife
I will spend it
Finding a love letter
In those eulogies
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I am trapped with myself. With no one else to be my hell, I am.
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I still drown in the waters I claimed to have mastered
Pardon me
My heart aches tonight
With recklessness
Your, mine, combined
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It's a poet's inclination. The urge to abandon this domestication and be the gentle beast of the woods. To see curiosity and amazement in the eyes of creatures for once. To have my muse climb trees. To fetch water from roaring streams. I have been civil in my suffering. Now I want to suffer from unusual ailments.
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Forgive me for seeing beauty in your sufferings, when there was only cruelty.
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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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Some day I could've asked you
Will you love me
When this darkness becomes me
But you didn't
Now the questions I have
I ask myself
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