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Literature Text
"why do you write?" they ask me.
"why do you breathe?" i reply.
"why do you breathe?" i reply.
Literature
simple math.
it was the strangest thing to be complaining about, not liking
feeling -this- human. feeling so fucking vulnerable and exposed, and not
understanding anything that is going on but knowing that its actually
just chemicals that we’ve given names too
too human
too exposed
and far too fucking weak to handle the tidal wave of shitty chemical reactions you
bring with you.
Literature
softened
the sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
alone.
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
raven,
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
me.
Literature
Cycle
& I find that there is not much that is poetry left in me.
The streets curl asphalt fingers around me &
I feel nothing, not the hot touch of june, not autumn
or loneliness sliding rough hands down my spine, I
feel nothing, though there is blood on my arms, & it
is not mine, it is the mosquito's, the mosquito i crushed
because it was whining, because it was making
the same directionless keen as me.
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just a quick thought.
maybe i'll expand on it.
do you think this needs to be expanded on?
maybe i'll expand on it.
do you think this needs to be expanded on?
© 2011 - 2024 escap-ing
Comments18
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I don't think it needs to be expanded upon; most of the people who read this will understand exactly what you mean.
I really like it.
I really like it.