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The Kind of Poetry That Shouldn't Be Published

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Dangling by a string
A marionette doll
It's a very steep fall.

Don't let go of my thread
Unless you want me to descend into a pool of sadness
Of hurt
Of rejection
Of restlessness
Of no direction
Of feeling like my heart is in tiny shards.

You joke about it, I know
But I swear if you let me go
It won't be funny anymore
As the icyness would seep into my core.

I can't begin to imagine the way I would be
To be left in the dust by you, alone
Forced into a desert unknown
My heart aches
The pain and pressure wouldn't be fake.

No, I would no longer have a heart
Left in the dark
The world would become pieces, strewn upon the ground
I couldn't stand it if you weren't around.

I'd be a mess
A pile of trears
A collection of fears
A torn-up, shell of me.

Yes, this is the kind of poetry no one should hear
No minute, no day, no month, no year.



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