Defining my broken self

October 19, 2010
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Dying from a broken heart is an ailing illness uncurable, but living in the past and fading away from reality is.
I cringe in fear of fallin into the depth of another's soul. Then have them take my frail heart at their finger tips then dropping it onto the ground letting it turn to sand.
Time is stolen from me and magik can no longer flick off my finger tips as sparks in the night sky for it can only burn deep into my soul and taunt my mind to it's farthest corner of my mind.
The butterflies in my stomach can only make me ill physically. They twist and turn my stomach and make me SICK.

Now the warmth from my body is being drawn away and cold still air enevlopes me in a cocoon.
The moon is my life and the sun and all the love in the world.
The blood in my veins has long dried out, the beating heart has fallen far from it's rightfull place. While hazy white clouds are my savior spill my unwanted and unruley tears.... and i leave a fair sweet goodby for those who i love





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