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Lunchime Cigarette
There is nothing here
To stop the feeling
As my heart slowly tears itself apart.
A lunchtime cigarette
With you,
And a brush of your lips is the dream I hold dear to
[It may never happen].
So there is nothing here
To stop the feeling,
As my heart
Slowly tears itself
Apart.
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Comments
Lady Wolfess Says:
Bloody hell, this has a dark sould attached to it...so dark it hits you, hard. Good poem, very soulful and a very morbid and loving tune to it also
Cheney Says:
That looks really beautiful!! Great job!
SailorPoipoi Says:
Both the poem and picture are beutiful!
neosasuke Says:
I love it, it sound so sad T_T, and sweet~!
dragomitch Says:
I have to say that is one of the better poems I've read, also, the illustration to it, or the image submited with it depicts it very well.