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Literature Text
My head aches.
There are lines on the mirror,
lines on my face.
I've tried all there is
but this pain won't leave.
And I think it'd be nice
if life would kill me.
But as I reach for that answer
you appear again
My life-long friend.
And you pull me in
and comfort me,
and tell me not to worry.
Still, your promise of salvation
brings little peace.
My weak legs give out
as I walk.
I don't say a word,
just listen to you talk.
And as you carry me
to my bed,
The dreams in my head
Surround me in hopes of surrender.
But as you treat my love
so tender,
The tears fall from my eyes.
And I cry.
There are lines on the mirror,
lines on my face.
I've tried all there is
but this pain won't leave.
And I think it'd be nice
if life would kill me.
But as I reach for that answer
you appear again
My life-long friend.
And you pull me in
and comfort me,
and tell me not to worry.
Still, your promise of salvation
brings little peace.
My weak legs give out
as I walk.
I don't say a word,
just listen to you talk.
And as you carry me
to my bed,
The dreams in my head
Surround me in hopes of surrender.
But as you treat my love
so tender,
The tears fall from my eyes.
And I cry.
Literature
Letter's from Luceal
June 6th
It's been a year. A whole year, has gone and went in a blink of an eye. Damn.
I didn't really want to start writing. I think it's kind of stupid, but Hope talked me into it. Say's it'll be good to get stuff of my chest.
I don't even know why I'm writing these. It's not like your ever going to get them. Not like I'm ever going to send them.
Still, Hope says I should write down what happened. Holy Hell a year. I've been gone a year.
Damn I don't know where to start.
I asked Hope. He says to start from the beginning, but I don't really know where that is.
Did I ever tell you about my life before we met? Before Az brought me back?
I
Literature
letter to the sycophant
Self-pity is everyone's poison, said the squall, ripping away from the ocean. Staying put was always just a harder form of running away. Her thoughts: running amok silent to the death, an entropic coagulation of everything to follow. Here, anonymous, drink to the sugar-coated and the smiles you've left undone; sink into the famous last words you've yet to discover; write them down, write them steady. They're looking for a stature that's eluding them quicker than the ground that slips from beneath their knees. What if i can't outrun the stars? You must; you must.
Before the afternoon of a moonless august you charted soliloquies in medium that
Literature
Changing
She said to me;
“Bloom where you are planted.”
What if I’m not planted in the right place,
And get mistaken for a weed?
What if I’m poison ivy in your garden,
Or an oak among mistletoe?
I’d prefer to uproot myself, And move elsewhere
Thankyouverymuch.
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Written in high school for a poetry slam. A friend was going to beta it for me but handed it back after the first four lines because it was "too depressing".
© 2010 - 2024 MacElf
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