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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1745957
I met a girl, in three months I do again. This is us sharing a cigarette.
I'm chilled, filled with shielding doubt
A drag from your cigarette tells me about
Your eyes haven't already revealed
They're peeled but not wide
Healed? Not mine.
Look at the two of us, love
Diagnosed, disillusioned
Our hearts, a protrusion
And it's the middle of December
Through the snowfall I see
who I've been
You exhale, I'm taking one in
An ash hits the ground and it grays the ice
The shift in contrast is the reality of vice
With a straight face I say we
Do our damnedest to shake the illusion
The distorted image of a lens post traumatic
Emphatic, I reach for your hand and begin to mend
It's just an understanding
No means
No end
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