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  • dmrlwrites 20h

    Maybe I am bitter.
    Bitter as hell, actually.
    But at least I’m not afraid of being alone.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 1w

    It’s as if you believe that a band of gold will save you. As if it will cement the past into the past, brick by heavy brick. Ruby red, like the jewels hidden under your tongue. The ones you salivate over but refuse to spit out due to that bet you made a lifetime ago. You know, the one where you promised yourself to never swallow an ounce of pride ever again? So, what gives now? Because the overall sentiment is understandable, but the decision? The decision truly caught the crowd off guard.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 7w

    You were just a greedy fly
    on a piece of rotten fruit that
    I was stupid enough to bite into.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 8w

    A girl
    morphed into
    a woman
    who never
    finished anythi


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 11w

    Maybe it was the way I slammed the door to your truck, all but gently. The way I spoke too loudly in your room because I couldn’t contain my excitement. The way I was still awake when your eyelashes brushed your cheeks, your hands embraced in mine at 2 a.m. The way I made sounds in my sleep as you shook me awake. The way I collected all of my things before you rushed us out the door. The way I kept fidgeting with my dress or my hungover morning breath. The way I demanded coffee, like a stop along the way would prolong the minutes that passed between us like seconds. Maybe it was the way I slammed the door to your truck, all but gently.

    Or maybe, just maybe, it was you and your ways.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 11w

    Maybe it was the way I slammed the door to your truck, all but gently. Maybe it was the way I spoke too loudly in your room as you whispered, because I couldn’t contain my excitement. Maybe it was the way I was still awake when your eyelashes brushed your cheek, your hands embraced in mine at two am. Maybe it was the way I made sounds in my sleep as you shook me awake the next morning. Maybe it was the way I collected my things, as you rushed us out the door. Maybe it was the way I kept fidgeting with my dress and my hungover morning breath. Maybe it was the way I demanded you buy me coffee, as if a stop along the way would prolong the minutes that passed like seconds. Maybe it was the way I slammed the door to your truck, all but gently.

    Or maybe, just maybe, it was you and your ways.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 13w

    Fragments of myself,
    like puzzle pieces
    laid out across
    the floor.

    I bend, break,
    and snap.

    I try to contort
    my immense
    figure to fit.

    Yet, there’s still
    missing pieces.

    I just want to
    be complete,
    I just want to
    be whole.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 15w

    Hints of vanilla, tangs of acid, notes of grass, and the underlying aroma of must. Exposure to smoke and water. Traces of wild flowers pressed between pages. Volatile organic compounds that make up paper, ink, and adhesive. Over time, breaking down and releasing chemicals during decomposition.

    Maybe that’s why I’ve always been so drawn to you. To old books. The scent is unmistakably intoxicating.


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 15w

    How fucking cliché
    To confess your love for someone
    On February 14th
    (I mean, who does that?)
    As you watch them style their hair in the mirror
    Focused on everything but you
    Your cold hands clenched
    Cupid’s arrow now impaled within your chest
    And your palpitated heart on a silver platter
    Unable to compartmentalize
    The sound of silent rejection
    Rejection that one day you will be thankful for


    ©dmrlwrites

  • dmrlwrites 15w

    Glitter stuck on glue
    Innocent whispers of “I love you”
    From ear to ear
    Tiny hands and snickering sneers
    Candy hearts made of chalk
    Who was brave enough to walk the walk?
    Around the room, mailboxes full of cards
    True love without regard
    Red frosting stains on lace
    Playground games of tag and chase
    Initials carved in trees
    Oh, to be young and free


    ©dmrlwrites