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Poetry

hangman

I ask for breathing room
but then you choke me tight
like I’m alone inside a tomb
but those feelings don’t matter, right?

the walls are closing in
somebody ring the bell
you say “this could be heaven”
so then why is it hell?

Anxiousness and guilt, you think these things are fleeting
because your love is bigger, better,
enough to be completing

we’re always playing hangman
and I get the letters wrong
but you can’t ever hurt me ‘cause the rope I have is long.

And you won’t suck more life from me
‘cause the one I have is strong.

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by katbowz

I'm a writer from Toronto, Canada. Marketing by day, fiction and poetry by night... And sometimes also by day, on slow ones.

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