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Lots of love!
you were my eulogyi wasn't allowed at the funeral.you were my eulogy by coup-de-coeur
i wasn't allowed at your funeral.
even though i had held your hand as your breath rattled in your perforated chest, as you laboured to keep your lungs working, as you tried to seek my eyes from behind the haze that was already clouding yours. even though i loved you, i was not enough to keep you with me, i was never enough to make them see that we could be perfect.
they didn't let me into your hospital room either, because i wasn't your family, even though i had been all you had during the nights you didn't even know who you were anymore, even though you had been all i had during the days i craved for the pain. even though we had been together for six years and had a fall wedding planned.
your parents came to tell me to stay away from your funeral, your mother crying as if her heart was the only one that was broken, your father looking at me as if blaming me for corrupting their only daughter, as if i had been the one to pull the trigger of the g
hit me hardi thought i knew what hate was,hit me hard by coup-de-coeur
but you proved me wrong once again.
hate is the way your eyes narrow
when they fall on me while i'm
laughing with someone else.
hate is the way my nails dig
bloody wounds into my palms when
you kiss someone else.
hate is the way you pull my hair
and scratch my back and bite
me so that you can mark me.
hate is the way my fingers wrap around
your throat while you're underneath me
and the bed rocks and i own you.
hate is the way you say "i'll fuck you
raw" and hate is the way i reply
"he has already been here."
hate is us and i wouldn't see it any other way.
Death isn't a fresh perspectiveI saw my mother
swallowing something small
when I was just a child
The anguish in her eyes
faded, as she told me
it was just a
with a little extra kick
maybe years later,
that's how I convinced
to swallow fifteen,
give me a fresh perspective;
in the end,
my breath reeked
instead of mint.
you can't make them love you.He is beautiful, new, unexplored. He has wanted to kiss her ever since they met one week ago and fell prey to helpless chemistry.
Dont, she says, moving her hands in a subconscious yes pattern along his arm as he rubs his cheek against hers. You dont even know my favourite colour. The wind cuts through her thin jacket, and his chest is so warm.
Red, he guesses, improbably correct. His ears are cold.
And how many dogs do I have?
Two, he says, and she laughs wildly at his luck as he nuzzles her neck.
Im trying to save you, she tells him, pushing fruitlessly against his broad shoulders. So you dont wa
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are upwhen she is feeling good, and