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What the Pages Make Of . . .

I am what the pages make of me,
Byproduct of words, whispers carried across the winds,
Saplings rising from the ground and tulips dying with the fall,
Nature taking a breath and then releasing it again,

I have an addiction.

I am ink-stained, steady trails drying through my home,
Darkness coats my fingertips but I don’t bring myself to listen,
Reason quotes at me from all sides, I take my own,
Decisions come easily as they are resolved by others, my duty done in the reading of each sacred poem,

I have a sickness.

I am looking for a partner, in this school I know no one,
Arson myself with the company of protagonists, women in my same situation,
Heart thumping in my chests warms and breaks within hours of each other, once a day, at least,
Love passes me by, but for brief moments I own it, between my two hands it resides,

I have a problem.

I am content with the life I lead, happy in opening the door to an empty apartment,
Imperative, is what the others call it, imperative that I don’t continue on this way,
They do not offer help and without it I will never stop, life will roll on the way it is if you call this a life,
Home, paper-bound stories because it is easier that way, easier to pretend that I am fine,

I need a solution.

Be my solution.



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so_joy said...
Dec. 4, 2012 at 2:55 pm
WOW! That was crazy! Amazing! I loved it! That was possibly one of the best poems I've read on this site! Fantastic job! You are SO talented!! Please read, rate, and comment on my poems! It would mean a lot:) Thanks! 
 
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