Jessica:
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Disheveled and filthy,
I’m broken.
I’m nothing.
. . .
I’m lonely.
But somehow,
Your presence,
Your sweetness;
It,
Still warms me.
. . .
And now I cannot breathe.
And every time you move your lips,
I think of every time we kissed;
How I adored you.
. . .
How I loved to watch you move.
But it doesn’t feel, like very much time;
It doesn’t seem so long ago,
That you were mine.
But you can’t tell,
That I still . . .
***
Things are different now.
We’re so different.
. . .
But nothing’s different.
. . .
Because, I still feel the same.
Every time an angel sings,
You smile.
And my heart hurts awhile.
And I cannot breathe . . .
. . .
But it doesn’t seem, that very much time,
Has passed, since I last glanced upon,
Your soft and sweet design.
. . .
When you were mine.
But you can’t tell,
That I still . . .
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And here's somthing to balance out all of that nice stuff . . .
Broken Vessel:
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A pretty, porcelain container.
A smooth profile,
A silhouette of soft perfection.
Containing:
A bouquet of faded water lilies.
Spilling, lavender reflections;
Condescending patterns,
Mildly, across an empty room.
Projecting only, the soft, still glow, of life . . .
It looks so beautiful.
But . . .
It’s not so beautiful.
Because,
Every special thing inside could fall;
After all.
Leaving only,
A broken vessel.
And so,
What was once, so ravishing,
Becoming brown,
And withering . . .
And lovely things, perishing,
Prove that love, and life, and joy,
Are not withstanding.
These things lie exposed,
And dyeing,
Beside their broken vessel.
Trying to find their ground,
And grow . . .
Trying to hold on,
And not let go.