And don’t think that I’ll always be gone. You know I’ve got you like a puppet in the palm of my hand. Don’t you let me down.
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And don’t think that I’ll always be gone. You know I’ve got you like a puppet in the palm of my hand. Don’t you let me down.
This is how I feel since you’ve stopped talking to me all together. We used to talk or skype everyday and now, you won’t even return my calls. You said you’d be there for me. Where are you now? Gone. Some best friend you were.
teach me
how the ghosts slowdance
across the lonely lanes of
the midnight highways
tonight.
teach me
what secrets are kept
like buried treasure in the
spaces between the
stars, between your bones,
your veins, your particles and
atoms, protons and
neutrons.
teach me
how poetry twirls
through her movements in your mind
and what parts of you
she rips out when she
reaches her fingers down and
takes bitter hold of
your soul.
darling,
what parts of you are
missing?
what have
these sifted words, these
lovely days, these haunted nights,
taken from what’s left
of you?
I hate this feeling. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.