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by A. K. Jones about a year ago in heartbreak
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A micro-collection by A. K. Jones

Paper Trail Books, Royal Oak, MI

I am a soul

filled with old literature


pressed flowers

and handwritten letters

trapped in a world of

right swipe

left swipe

meaningless late night texts

and overbearing egos


I refuse to feel

any remorse for

your fields

running dry

when mine is

finally flourishing

after flushing out

the pesticides

brought on

by no other than

your very own

grease stained



I'm tired of pretending

that I'm content

in being an option-

for the world I hold

within me-

the heart that lives

inside me-

is worth a fortune

~why don't you see it

Putting love on a pedestal

when you have none

is detrimental-

when you start to crave


from outside your body-

when you unlock

and open up your ivory cage...

you allow in dirt - scum -

dressed up dolls pretending

to be the one-

you start to lose yourself

bit by bit

they grab - hit

pull apart your heart-

look at it and spit


that sound



they make you feel as though

to adore you

is all that they know

never revealing

that it be but just a show

keeping you around-

so their ego can grow.

and you allow for them

to play this game-

you remember minute details-

put purpose to their name

for the feeling

they've awoken within you

would hurt more to lose-

even if it's untrue

you see-

when the longing begins

that's where the peace


~the longing


About the author

A. K. Jones

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