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Literature Text
you are acrylic paint stumbling
down a hollow canvas,
thin and sad
like a bending willow.
i can't help wondering
how you lost that
spark that flooded the darkest of
nightmares
stumbling
through dark hallways with nothing
to see,
bones crunching, haunting the
place. they won't find me.
i don't want them to try.
i am a leaf, trembling in the breeze,
gales and gusts like songs
of sadness. tonight, i hide
beneath the dark veil of sky.
stars over my eyes.
i pull dreams about myself,
distorting reality. i am not
here, not here, never here.
whispers enclose me.
i am safe
for now.
morning breaks and they wonder --
was she ever real?
down a hollow canvas,
thin and sad
like a bending willow.
i can't help wondering
how you lost that
spark that flooded the darkest of
nightmares
stumbling
through dark hallways with nothing
to see,
bones crunching, haunting the
place. they won't find me.
i don't want them to try.
i am a leaf, trembling in the breeze,
gales and gusts like songs
of sadness. tonight, i hide
beneath the dark veil of sky.
stars over my eyes.
i pull dreams about myself,
distorting reality. i am not
here, not here, never here.
whispers enclose me.
i am safe
for now.
morning breaks and they wonder --
was she ever real?
Literature
no light, no light
1st.
sometimes, something weighs me down; not inside my bones, not in the valleys of my heart,
but at the tip of all my extremities. points of fingers, ends of toes and the very deepest deeps of my stomach.
2nd.
lover,
your eyes aren't blue and you can't pull off a flannel shirt or grow a mustache.
but your stuffed toy collection and sunrise yellow eyes made me fall anyway.
Literature
those blinking lights
by now he has memorized the sound of that door slamming shut. it sounds like radio static and cars passing by- right in your ear, right in front of your fucking face. it feels like the disappointment of a sigh- the aloof breath blowing in your face. he doesn't understand how it could be both soft and yet so loud, but it is. of course it is; disappointing me brought a kind of silence that has never sounded so deafening to his ears as it does tonight. that door slamming shut sounds like goodbye, without the I'll-miss-you-part.
the world did not stop on your birthday, you know. bodies didn't freeze in place and voices were not cut off in the mi
Literature
i let myself become a candle one cold, windy night
I thought I killed Poetry---
but Poetry killed me. Left for dead,
now I don't even know how to write
anything resembling good literature
without resorting to sex-jokes, bad
puns, or half-wit metaphors. I am
a half-wit metaphor. I am
the shadow of a poet, but
my candlewax-poetic cry
for attention burnt out. I
extinguished the Sun, so
the remaining silhouette
of my former conscious
vanished into the night
like a doused flame.
Gone, forgotten. I am
a fallen chunk of rock
from Earth's Sky, now
Sunless. The kindred
soul I once let bloom
freely in Innocence's
Garden lay bef
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Comments7
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I absolutely love the imagery and emotion here.