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I Don't Love YouI don’t love you.I don’t care about you.I don’t think that you’re beautiful.I don’t envy the hand that you hold.I don’t admire you from afar when you’re not looking.I don’t die inside when you look straight through me.I don’t stay up late at night thinking about you.I don’t touch myself to the thought of you making love to me.I don’t cry myself to sleep knowing that I mean nothing to you.I don’t dream about you when I fall asleep and wish to wake up next to you.I don’t write melodramatic poetry about you.I don’t even tell you the truth.
blind eyeshe always said ifever a house wasbuilt for hide and seek,it was ours.maybe she was right,or maybe she just couldn't see pasther reflection in the window.i guess it doesn't matter.as the dawn sets lightto the horizonand her first cigarette,we hide within the crevices,the coils of smokethat roll from her lips.
Ashen DiaryShe wrote everythingin that old diary of hers,always smelling of tangerinesand blueberries,looking torn and beatenfrom all the corners and crooksshe's hidden it in.She shoved hours of every daybetween the cracking coversof that book,hoping to save them for the future,when she'll no longer be able to remember,incapable of reliving her past.Pouring out her soul onto the pagesthrough the tipof her black sharpie,recording her lifeminute by minute.She didn't knowthat putting her life on paperwould take the lifeout of her.I didn't know either.And now I would killto read the her hidden behind covers.I'd die to read the herwho opened up over the pages.