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Literature Text
all lights look like starsthrough lids half closed.but you were a supernovaeven with my eyes wide open.
Literature
in which I try to forget my dreams
with Sunday-heavy lips, she calls me
selfish and means it. I remember
dreams better than people, strangers
greeting me in the grocery store over
a common past and sorry selection
of red grapes. I remember Katie
being beautiful and happy and
wearing the same abnormal toe shoes
and being a few decades older than time
would allow, I remember Emily
being alive. I remember me
escaping to France to defy logic
and stow away in a pretentious,
overpriced tourist resort where
I’d learn to speak a language
I’d never use and love people
who’d never know me; I remember
impossible things.
she tells me trust is not a virtue.
respon
Literature
Almost Perfect
the sun is melting away,
we call it romantic when
all good things die quietly;
I feel like I’m always transitioning
through different levels of sobriety:
spent up on the people in my life
like the girl who doesn’t remember
my name and the boy who thought
I was joking.
(I will care for myself, and
then the world will stop and
spin in the right direction;
the mirror will blur and
I will finally see me,
unfiltered and beautiful)
I just want to believe
that somewhere there’s a boy
ready to sing my bleeding ears
to sleep
with a cinnamon voice, he
will tell me I couldn’t
possibly be human: something
otherworldly,
Literature
almost not there.
winter birds
are spreading
inside
ice laced
rib(bird)cages.
quiet whispers
between
crooked teeth
& gasps of
stale air.
bruised lilac knees
with more
colour
than your heart (soul)
ever
had.
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Comments18
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That is so very beautiful. Words fail me to comment on how much this makes sense in a sort of subconscious way. Such a powerful play on these words and concepts.