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Literature Text
I know that you have her
smeared all over your lips,
her lipstick on parts of you
that I've not yet seen,
but I have you
etched on the surface of me,
and I pray that counts for something.
I know that you think of me
only when she's not on your mind,
that I'm just an opening act
to her main attraction,
but I think of you
whenever I'm not thinking of you,
and I pray that counts for something.
I know about it all,
but I keep ignoring it,
living in a daydream,
bound to crumble apart
sometime soon.
I wonder why.
I guess it's because
there's nothing better
than a bit of blissful delusion
to get me through another night without dreams.
Another night without you.
smeared all over your lips,
her lipstick on parts of you
that I've not yet seen,
but I have you
etched on the surface of me,
and I pray that counts for something.
I know that you think of me
only when she's not on your mind,
that I'm just an opening act
to her main attraction,
but I think of you
whenever I'm not thinking of you,
and I pray that counts for something.
I know about it all,
but I keep ignoring it,
living in a daydream,
bound to crumble apart
sometime soon.
I wonder why.
I guess it's because
there's nothing better
than a bit of blissful delusion
to get me through another night without dreams.
Another night without you.
Literature
Sonnets and Bruises
What would you give me
if I asked you for a pulse?
My trip to dreamland
is grey. The way
there's bliss in the in-between
of sunsets and dawns;
blowing cigarette smoke
in the lines
of the fades.
The span of her and me
scares me-
the child who picks
fairies and swallows them,
when you know me well enough.
I'm a staccato of insects
too close to fire
and raindrops too quick
to be steam. Lonely merry-go-rounds
and bottles for lanterns
are the cobblestones
beneath my feet;
and I love tripping on them.
Think of the cyclones
we'd ride and the tomorrows
we'd wrap around our pinkies;
had you met me first.
Oh, the number of and's
we'd use
to replac
Literature
Senseless.
I didn't fall in love with you; I tripped over your facade.
You weren't my other half; I was whole all along.
Love isn't blind; it's senseless.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez 2013
Literature
I Wasn't Supposed To Be Worth It.
Was it worth it?
Trading the taste of cinnamon on your lips
To smell like cigarettes and a painful hangover.
Was life so cruel to your perfectly skewed smile,
That you had to swallow a bottle of brandy
Every night at 9 pm
To hear yourself laugh again?
How could I have not noticed
The tremor in your right hand
Every time you held a pen?
Was I so blind for the love you had for me to see
That my love was destroying you?
'I am yours.' You whispered when you still had Petrichor surrounding you.
I inhaled your scent like oxygen,
All the while I suffocated you like sulfur.
You gave me your heart on a plate,
And I was the last pill that took you
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Comments5
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Ooooh. That's a harsh and painful feeling over there...
Great job with this. I feel bad for the delusional girl