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  • Writer's pictureErin

counterfeit love, amongst other things

You’ve always called me crazy, delusional, and jealous, yet in the same breath call me yours.


I pretend to believe the words you say in order to stay tucked away in your arms.


it’s interesting though, I think you believe those words more than you believe the latter.


Your words sometimes resemble sweet and delicate love, but I can see that it is counterfeit art hanging on the wall.


you nailed the paintings all around the gallery and sign your name in the corner, yet the art you are presenting doesn’t belong to you.


they are impressions, copies and delusions of your own.


you continue to paint and sketch and draw all the art you can give me in order to convince yourself you’re truly in love.


you pretend I am your muse, But the canvas doesn’t resemble me anymore. they are black-and-white self-portraits repeated over and over on bloody canvas.


you called me all these things, and pretend I’m beautiful enough to re-create, but every time your brush hits the white covering, your eyes appear not mine.


you can call me all the names you can think of, and tell me you love me every night.


But I promise you the only thing you can create are self centered counterfeit pieces.


so tell me, sweet boy, is the muse the girl sitting next to you, or the reflection in the mirror?



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