First Kiss

Lips like velvet Cracked like concrete You kissed me All too tenderly   Senses touched but our innocence left untouched For no one   Has made me feel As such. *Picture from Pinterest*

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Paper House

All we see Are burnt cigars Broken homes Abandoned cars   Home is drawn By ghosts of ancestors With bloody gowns And unread letters   For no one can live alone, In this fragile home. *Photograph from Pinterest*

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Goodbye

Hands never seemed so majestic, vibrations of patterns He waved. I waved. I said goodbye.   Never turned back for one last look in your eyes. Maybe a smile, will let us live for a while.   Do not look for my silence cries. Just look for bones and ashes, Once we parish and die. This picture…

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Sinfully Beautiful

Beauty surrounds her Like an ascribed aura Dipped in Gold, Most expensive fur   Hair jet black Just like a curse An imprinted back Her eyes burst   Salty rivers flow Down her soft eyes Her skin glows Soon to realize   That she is beautiful Although It’s sinful She has always been Beautiful. Painting…

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Untitled.

It is like our final moments were…… final. The sad part about it all is that we disappeared. We both did in the end. Everything changes in the end. Nothing stays the same. But I will find you in my dreams, where our fingers intertwined like vines around an old house. I will feel you…

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Deserted

Sometimes the darkness, Can be embraced. Like raindrops on Ones face.   Surrender you soul Accept the pain Let loose, break those chains.   Tears are friends Folded in comfort We’ve all lived Alone in this desert. Picture taken with Canon 1100D

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Strange Men

The weakness radiated from her limbs. As men she hated stopped for one more glimpse.   She shivers violently as rough ungentle fingers neglected her privacy. In the night her pain lingers   She wore white like a misleading message. Praying one day she might, escape this dark passage.   Where strange men, lived beneath…

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Tornado In The Leaves

Small spirits In the leaves Excited as children On christmas eve.   Why stay, Why not leave? This broken earth Where people grieve? _________________ This poem is actually based on a superstition. When I was young, I pointed out a pile of leaves that where swept off the ground twirling in the shapes of little…

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