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by Katie 3 months ago in sad poetry
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What stands before me

Photo by dylan nolte on Unsplash

It hurts, this wanting.

It is there, waiting for me to grasp it.

But nothing is free.

There is always a price to pay.

And a high price it is. To be paid with one currency only.

This currency doesn’t come from a pocket, it comes from the heart.

To be paid in pain. Doled out, without regard. Punching, cutting, pain.

There is no higher price to pay.

So who am I to let this currency loose to do it’s harm?

Better I should hold this currency close, letting it dig at my heart.

Wrapping my arms around this want, tightly, weeping for my lose.

sad poetry

About the author


Really just an amateur trying my hand at this.

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