I know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.
EMILY KURCDo ghosts get tired of haunting? Of chasing old flames in darkness, of walking through dreams casting shadows against walls, against hearts, do they feel themselves forgotten?
More Emily Kurc Quotes
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I learned to make art with my broken heart.
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I have so much love to give even with these daggers still stuck in my heart.
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You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.
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When I look at you, I see the moon – I wish you could see that you’re every poets muse.
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I laugh and I cry and I reason on until the late night, but I never feel the urge to call you. The person that I once knew is forever frozen in time.
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The sun touched your skin with innocent delicacy as if you were a work of out that was made to be admired deeply.
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I woke up this morning and for once, I had no desire to drink my morning coffee. Is that how it felt for you to wake up and never return?
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We all show our true colors eventually – mine is dark and firesome red. I bet I burned you. I don’t expect to see you soon.
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Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.
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I don’t love you anymore. But each time you begin to fade it makes my heart feel numb.
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When the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.
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In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.
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I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.
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I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.
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Do ghosts get tired of haunting? Of chasing old flames in darkness, of walking through dreams casting shadows against walls, against hearts, do they feel themselves forgotten?
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I miss the sweat of september and the stickiness of the sheets.
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A sea of jumbled emotions I had longed to live again, a feeling that no metaphor could match.
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There were still embers scattered around me from the bridges I have burned. I wonder if they can feel it too. The space between us lingering like a scarlet letter, I’m learning how to love again.
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Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.
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I thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.
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I taught you how to love so you could get it right with someone else.
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I bet my words are still tangled beneath that streetlight fighting for the right combination to stay.
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There was a hesitation in your touch only time could see.
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He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.
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Occasionally, the sun is eclipsed by the body of a weeping human. Her tears make the soil harden and crust like the top of a burnt load of bread.
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Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.
EMILY KURC