And when I imagine my home – above all else, I’ll always think of you.
M.K. STANDBYThe knot in a grain of wood, a frost covering sodden grass. Mornings warmed by the rising sun and brewing coffee – the vision of the poet.
More M.K. Standby Quotes
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I feel like I’m on fire, fighting for a moment on respite – I’m not placing bets.
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The bond of friendship as tight as any lover – where shoulders carry shared burden, a devotion unmatched by any other.
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My thoughts feel like plagiarism – a feeling already felt, the words already written.
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My throat burns with the words left unspoken, air hangs still and silence hides the words you long to hear – stay.
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The knot in a grain of wood, a frost covering sodden grass. Mornings warmed by the rising sun and brewing coffee – the vision of the poet.
M.K. STANDBY -
And in the end-you didn’t deserve my thoughts or my ink.
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I’m scared of mediocrity, of scribing my soul on fading pages, each destined to the fate that met those before it – gently laid to rest in a growing pile of unwanted words.
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Spirits dance on a velvet night, the sky it’s deepest black. In restless sleep and twisted dreams, they find themselves alive.
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You broke me into pieces, but I took those shards and built a mosaic. I’m stronger for the fall, and more beautiful than I could have ever been with you.
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Maybe this time I choose ignorance, because giving began to feel like losing – repairing a house from rubble, and making sandcastles with the ash.
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Don’t waste your words on me, your face speaks in volumes that your breath could never reach.
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A collection of thoughts bundled together and bound in twine – more toxic than any chemical, my very own poison.
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I sit by the sea wall, willing the waves to stay. Pulling away with gentle abandon – they avenge me for doing the same.
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I see the way that he is with you – holding your heart with softness he never spared for mine.
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Leaves dance on twisted arms, swaying on the breeze as though choreographed by unseen hands. Even the faithless could find themselves converts, by the smell of dampened earth and its blossoming rose.
M.K. STANDBY