story to be told to the stranger
anonymous secrets
fail to seize me
yet i’m begging for release
from a ghost i’ve
never meant
a love i sometimes
dread
strangers know the
words to deliver
deliver me from
this misery
that is me
i’m just a jump
away from the past
of you
yet here you
are in my eyes
just a part embedded
in the heart,
just beat..
until no longer..
stranger who leaves me notes: who are you?
a bored boy from a snowy state in a snowed-in state due to a beautiful poet’s vagueness is it so hard to say who left you this way? was he like me or no longer alive? were his eyes green or filled with blue lies? I have no diary, just wandered through, transfixed by you. Perhaps it’s worth opening an account to hear your tale of love and loss? Is that the only thign to do?
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In truth beauty, in beauty truth. Words of beauty must come from the truth of the heart. Your writing suffers from being cryptic, is all I’m saying. I feel you could burst out with MORE truth, more anger, more specifics, it would touch more people. And, though it’s not my business, I am struck by the fact that a person could have this kind of hold over you for so long. It seems very unhealthy.
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i apologize for not being cryptic enough, honest enough, angry enough, specific enough.. not being healthy enough. not being enough.. enough.
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No, no TOO cryptic, dear. I could have loved you, once… You withhold too much for me to know. But as you said, enough, and good-bye. Missed opportunities, ah…
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you could have, once.. i’m just words and more words. farewell. life is the opportunity. at least, tell me your name?
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