I want to feel.
I'm tired of being stone cold, brazen hard. My body feels like one big aching lump, my heart, even less. I no longer care, hope, wish to live this way, without love, affection, desire. I want to drink, drown, die, then do it again, knowing before hand I wouldn't succeed, as in love. So off I go, and off I went, without thinking, only feeling this stone, cold, brazen, hardness.
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AuthorMary Maurice wrote her first poem when she was in the ninth grade, and hasn't stopped writing since. Catching the fire at an early age, she continues to dedicate her time to the craft. Archives
January 2019
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