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I let you…

You eclipse the sun until you replace her without mimicking her warmth or promoting growth.

Swaying to the iambic rhythms of your latest lies, I fall victim to your gravity and charms.

Collapsing against steel can open as well as close eyes.


When the writer in me stops loving you…

The hidden messages go back into hiding. The roses smell chemical, wilt, and die.

The part of me that now hates you recognizes you as her dirt streaked mirror.


My illusions of our grandeur fade thrusting me back into lone obscurity

relishing old movies even more than their dying stars.

I always the one begging to be seen now see your deceptions and my disappointments.

Now, your attempts to enclose me in embrace feel like a coffin shutting me in.

I blame you for your presence outlasting our myth.