We stumble over the liquid honey turned to rocks in our chests and split the lips we used to kiss each other with. We graze our faces and mark ourselves uglier, adding pepper to our frowns. The truths which shone lights into our murky minds have become razors to our affections, shredding our soft bits and callousing them. We walk haltingly, falling over ourselves and over others, often scratching them as we seek purchase on figments of feelings which once seemed so real. We are dragon flies with broken wings.


 

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  1. Through the mirror the cracked vase looks back, a reflection of the burning passion when your lips caressed and consumed my whole as I now touch my lips blossomed but cold, fiery but deserted. Ironic shadows reflect the passion but the crack of light’s contemptuousness embraces us now. My wing seeks to heal.

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