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:icondearpoetry: More from DearPoetry


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September 6, 2012
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these words are not poetry

swimming liquid fire through ashes

of dead phoenix veins.


no, they are rough and callused

with over use, their own faithless artists

spewing black tar from their lungs

in the hopes to one day breathe again.


nothing moves her.


she would rather scribble her heart out

on physical manifestations of her own reality-

on skin and bones she worships like a temple.  


"Write of me," he says, "right here."-

planting sun-stricken kisses  

along the hollow of her burning throat.


"I want to be where your heart sleeps."
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:iconjessswirly:
I love your work, to put it simply.
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:icondearpoetry:
DearPoetry Jun 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! :)
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:iconadagiobunny:
Adagiobunny Feb 3, 2013  Student Writer
i absolutely love what you've painted here -

just the right tones, fragments packed with meaning.
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:icondearpoetry:
DearPoetry Feb 18, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you!
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:iconadagiobunny:
Adagiobunny Feb 20, 2013  Student Writer
most welcome! :)
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:iconthecmq:
thecmq Sep 13, 2012  Student Writer
The last line is creepy as xD Reminds me of Dracula and how sad his story was. But it's an interesting perception you've incorporated here. =)
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:icondearpoetry:
DearPoetry Sep 13, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Oh, interesting!
He did have a very sad story, didn't he?
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:iconthecmq:
thecmq Sep 23, 2012  Student Writer
He did. So misunderstood. To an extent. xD *delayed reply much*
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