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Literature Text
Can I be the thunderclap tickle plucking scales
down the stringed column of your
sweet vertebrae?
I would shake the nerves,crack them open
and feast upon the monster texture
that makes a human pinch their eyes tight.
those careless t-storms can make
the most hard-boned devil wail
in the brief nuance of energy bursts.
[the initial heat expansion from soft
crackling lights leaves the threads
of your flesh prickled with anticipation]
And I want to do that to you--
weave through the tender wires, twirl
currents into the weepy slope of you.
you would love it
(love. it. ) (love. it.)
love me?
down the stringed column of your
sweet vertebrae?
I would shake the nerves,crack them open
and feast upon the monster texture
that makes a human pinch their eyes tight.
those careless t-storms can make
the most hard-boned devil wail
in the brief nuance of energy bursts.
[the initial heat expansion from soft
crackling lights leaves the threads
of your flesh prickled with anticipation]
And I want to do that to you--
weave through the tender wires, twirl
currents into the weepy slope of you.
you would love it
(love. it. ) (love. it.)
love me?
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
Tragedy
I’m the girl in the books that is a mystery. A tragic heroin that gives the main character a new perspective.
Quiet girl, riot girl. A rebel, a tragedy.
I’m the wild ride, the adventure, the challenge. I’m the girl he wants to know all about until he goes too far and I’m no longer real.
I’m the manic depressive pixie dream girl with a tragic end.
I’m not his type but he goes after me anyway because my wild eyes, wild hair, wild life, wild thoughts.
Oh look, I’ve got an attitude. Screaming at the world, fuck the system, tongue as sharp as a knife attitude. Middle fingers, swearing at everyone, bit
Literature
disease(d)
nicotine ash in the air
morphing neutrality
to potential cancer
one of us is
decomposing while alive
putrid body soul
and everything else
one of us is in the wrong
you're the one holding
death between your index finger
and other tumour-stained digits
one of us is in the wrong
let me be clear -
it's not me.
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the things i write [are never good enough]
nothing much to say. kind of just wanted to throw something onto the table. eat up and spit it out if you want [i would. i do. and i will].
nothing much to say. kind of just wanted to throw something onto the table. eat up and spit it out if you want [i would. i do. and i will].
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Comments2
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this is miles past good enough.
this is amazing.
the imagery is fantastic, that last stanza gave me chills.
it's all the things I've felt in ways I'd never thought of before.
this is amazing.
the imagery is fantastic, that last stanza gave me chills.
it's all the things I've felt in ways I'd never thought of before.