Odd Yearning

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

I don't understand love. At this point I'm just hoping things happen to work out perfectly.

Submitted: January 28, 2018

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Submitted: January 28, 2018



My love fancies herself a comedian.

It's quaint, how she rules my thoughts without a sense of sincerity.

Her subjects run amok through my broken gates and across my strange walls, and no one understands them. This castle is painted pink and brown and green and blue and red and yellow, but all anyone sees is a cascade mess of nameless hues.

Perhaps, some carefully chosen words could provide their clarity.

Though they will never know the pain felt as a petal falls, landing far from my stem. For once I can see the sun rising, roots somewhat mellow, and only my darkest thoughts suspect it might be the frenzied caress of a blameless fuse.

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