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Literature Text
You were a mid-morning train wreck,
the embodiment of poetry.
& my clavicles whispered too many nothings
about your summer storm hands,
folding like paper cranes
to make wishes upon themselves.
wishes are for the weak-
stand up,
do something about this quaking heart
& freezing fingers.
Anything.
I think I found God then,
lurking behindwanderlust eyes.
the embodiment of poetry.
& my clavicles whispered too many nothings
about your summer storm hands,
folding like paper cranes
to make wishes upon themselves.
wishes are for the weak-
stand up,
do something about this quaking heart
& freezing fingers.
Anything.
I think I found God then,
lurking behind
Literature
Storybook Ending
Her ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,
[dragon's blood
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
[glass slippers
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
[enchanted forests
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
[cursed beasts
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
Literature
Lust
His hands have a habit of finding my hip bones,
trailing his river like fingers along my stone smooth skin,
his lips do not move, his mouth tells me stories.
Mine spend their time
tracing the length and breadth
of his back in kisses*
We travel through lands that never existed
before we touched them
At temperatures far exceeding in Fahrenheit
If only we could understand
how lust and geography
make such divinely sinful bedmates.
____________________
* One hundred and sixteen
Literature
Whatever Is To Do
We were ever so worried
When we found the knotted noose
And scribbled diary entries
With tales of self abuse
Teenage tears and tantrums
Can easily be explained
But what on earth would cause these
Freshly dripped blood stains
We were ever so worried
When you locked yourself in your room
Painted the walls pitch black
And ignorantly we assumed
That this was just a phase
That it would soon come to pass
And pass it indeed did do
Far too soon and far too fast
We were ever so worried
When you dyed black your hair
No longer did we recognise
The child that was once here
Our precious little angel
Where did your shaken bones go
And
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Comments32
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I must admit, I love you and your writing
Your poems depict views in a way I cannot, sadly,
I write in a book everyday,
and sometimes, I go on poetic rants, about anything mostly,
the random yelling about stuff in a sing-song voice is normally better than what I write though.
I must say, you are an amazing,
and very very talented person.
You fill my heart and mind with joy and sadness and mishap and wonder with each line and letter.