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Literature Text
My memories of,
your gentle touch, your loving warmth, your tender kiss.
I can still feel my heart aching,
reminding me of love.
My memories keep you with me,
inside my heart,
where you never have to go.
I can't let you go...
Silent whispers, Silent tears.
My memories give me warmth,
burning, they char my skin.
My scars are gone, turned to ash.
Beneath it all I see the truth.
My memories lie.
Your poisonous touch, your cold embrace, your deathly kiss.
My heart in your hand, my blood on your fingers.
Reminding me of imitation love.
your gentle touch, your loving warmth, your tender kiss.
I can still feel my heart aching,
reminding me of love.
My memories keep you with me,
inside my heart,
where you never have to go.
I can't let you go...
Silent whispers, Silent tears.
My memories give me warmth,
burning, they char my skin.
My scars are gone, turned to ash.
Beneath it all I see the truth.
My memories lie.
Your poisonous touch, your cold embrace, your deathly kiss.
My heart in your hand, my blood on your fingers.
Reminding me of imitation love.
Literature
Magic
Come with me,
And you will see,
The magic inside -
Where fires tell stories,
Words have meaning,
And honor is love -
Where games connect,
Songs speak,
And peace is everywhere -
This is my love,
My home,
And my world -
Where if you need a friend,
Then I will come,
And there is many more,
Where I come from -
This is real,
Not a dream,
So come and see,
The magic,
With me.
Literature
Twinkling
Up and up we fly,
Far away, into the sky;
We live our life,
Wandering free,
Among the clouds,
Looking down upon thee.
A glimpse into your life,
As we pass by.
Glancing into your window,
And seeing the treasure hidden inside.
The stars upon your walls,
Twinkling, they cast light across the room.
A pause to admire, then we fly,
Back to our nests, nestled against the sky.
Literature
always enchanted
Once upon a time (because don't all great stories start that way?) there was a very small girl. She had eyes like starlight and lips of laughter, and her hair fell around her face in chocolate ringlets. She loved wearing dresses, but she hated flip-flops - she wanted them to make that satisfying smacksmacksmack sound, but they just fell off her feet. So she decided that being girly wasn't her thing. She got a skateboard that she couldn't ride no matter how hard she tried, and her knees were perpetually purple.
When she grew up she wanted to be a writer-artist-anthropologist-astronaut-biologist-musician. That would be the best job in the worl
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I give you my heart, you constrict it in your hands just to see the blood flow.
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Everything, it seems, must burn.