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sinner and saint
Whatever it is that you're
looking for, I'm not it.
I am a flower crown made of
black roses and thorns and I am
pieced together entirely by shreds
and tears and messy stitches
And most days I long to
drown in my sorrows and many
times I have tried to ask
You fix me and every time I have
ended up biting my tongue.
I know that in the mirror you
only see stains and scars
but the pure white of your flesh
reminds me snow and how
unclean you make me feel.
Melodies of lovers blend like the
perfect coffee; your voice is slow and
steady while my every word quavers
from the earthquake in my
brain; time after time you have
tried to calm my nervous heart and
I feel you growing tired because
You no longer touch me
and often times my scared "I love you"'s
are met with a fracture of a smile
accompanied by an exhausted sigh.
Our flowers are dying and dishes are
breaking and I fear that I
will be next and that, somehow, the
day the pen slips permanently from
my fingers will be the day you are reborn.
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