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Literature Text
If I am nothing but an actor
on a stage in this dust town
of rose torn bones and washed up
stars, why is it that the galaxy sculpted
crescent moons in my palms
ache?
on a stage in this dust town
of rose torn bones and washed up
stars, why is it that the galaxy sculpted
crescent moons in my palms
ache?
Literature
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
Giving them kisses in the dark
to numb their headache from
drinking too much and yet
not enough to kill lust.
She was always adored by boys, who,
if given the chance, would rebuild
the world for her.
But she wanted to be the heroine
and refused to see
she needed saving, too.
Literature
There are Things Beneath the Garden
There Are Things Beneath the Garden:
~
There are things beneath the garden,
Which you really shouldn't see.
There are things beneath the garden,
That don't belong to me.
There are things beneath the garden,
Gone rotten blue and black.
There are things beneath the garden,
In a dripping gunny sack...
~
There are flowers in the garden,
Which you really shouldn't pull.
There are flowers in the garden,
That sit on top of wool.
There are flowers in the garden,
With a really rotten scent.
There are flowers in the garden,
Above bodies burnt and bent...
~
I love this little garden,
It's a special place to me.
I love this little g
Literature
Missing Pieces.
I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
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All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. -William Shakespeare
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. -William Shakespeare
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Something hidden beneath the stars in our eyes...