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Literature Text
If you realize,
My love for you,
Please do not be horrified.
Please tell me,
If you figure it out.
Tell me,
So I may cover my tracks,
With poorly delivered lies.
So I might salvage our friendship.
Or,
Tell me that you love me as well.
My love for you,
Please do not be horrified.
Please tell me,
If you figure it out.
Tell me,
So I may cover my tracks,
With poorly delivered lies.
So I might salvage our friendship.
Or,
Tell me that you love me as well.
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
nothing more
He likes girls who slowly break him
give him bruises
internal scars and memories
tear marked pillows
She likes guys who are a challenge
give her goosebumps
something to think about before sleep
anxious sigh
He likes girls who laugh at his expense
have quirky smiles
cute giggles and sparkly eyes
a good audience
She likes guys who keep their distance
have time alone
stay away, no thing as authentic comfort
'danger, keep away'
He likes girls who teach him about love
it doesn't exist
authentic love is just an idea
and nothing more
She likes guys who don't say the 'l' word
she has said
"your love is fickle."
and nothing mor
Literature
TACENDA
they thought you were magnificent.
the girls that pirouette with you because they thought your sibilated hymns of venus and saturated stars were charming. they don't see the whisper of desolate tears and punctured hearts and an eccedentesiastic boy as they glide with you across the floor. you think it doesn't matter.
you think it will heal.
and i pitied you, boy. because the hope of yours will be your downfall.
your destiny was decided the moment you chose the effervescent, sanguine laudanum over the fractures of your violin strings and the cuticles that now protect the emulsion of ophelia, your mother, and the emanated paint that reminds
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