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Writer's pictureS.Elizabeth

The Devil Wear Prada, and Drinks Vodkas on Ice.

I listened to the way she lost herself in the words she wrote and I couldn’t help but wish that she would think of me like that.

she is a memory that i now cannot even feel.

maybe her words for too beautiful for me to understand at the time. i wanted you to write me so beautifully, but in your eyes i was not worthy of ending. i was not beautiful in a way that made a good protagonist.

kissed my still bloody heart with the liquor laced wordsthat lightened my heart.

she could only love with the courage only the malt could bring.

she had lost herself trying to escape, i lost myself trying to be found.

The burning liquid caused flowers to growin her lungs in a way my love could nevershower down. you watered them yourself in lies and mistakes and regrets and anger.

but here I am now, drowning my demons in the same fire to forget you. unfortunately, they are learning to swim. you return with bruised i love yous and busted lips that twist and turn sorries of tragedies into symphonies. and when i’m collapsing to the ground do you even flinch? is your heart so cold that the warmth of my love could not even unthaw it? you run. that is all you are good at. but now i am running too.



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