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Peanut Butter Sandwich

we are the heart of the matter
and its breaking in two
we win our battles blindfolded
we lose our skins like spring lambs
the slaughter of romance is so unexpected
watching the guillotine fall
still doesn’t clue you into the result
destruction of a human being by their own tortured emotions
tin men better off rusting
i don’t trust it anymore
without trust there is nothing
i am lost in the blank page then
let the night be made of sexual advances
of cold semen drying on the bed
do not hold me like i want you to
spray stain remover
be practical
do not pretend we could be more than this
i can take the husk of me after interactions of lust
i can fill it with other moments
with puppies and kittens and long night binges
that thing they write all the songs about
lets not even name it
or we call it peanut butter
all the songs of peanut butter
sticking to the roof of your mouth
i am sick of them
unrealistic expectations
no one will make me a sandwich with creamy peanut butter
just the transcendental jelly
transient and viscous
much like the mess on my sheets
do not talk of caring
i care for my things, for inconsequential objects
you lump me into this
we are pointless and i am a fool
i am careless with this broken piece of peanut brittle

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About deadendemily

Emily lives in Austin, TX. She has a minor in chaos and a major in spray paint. She likes Vincent Price and ABBA. She enjoys being covered in fake blood and writing horror stories. Most of the time she just hopes that her cat is not plotting to murder her, her cat being a minion of Satan and all. They would never suspect the cat.

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