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Literature Text
Your words are buzzing in my ears like fireflies illuminating the seats for the nightengale's performance. You said you loved me maybe I love you and you lie, no one loves a soul and a husk. He only has a mask for identity after all, who needs a harlequin when you've got men around?
I take one violin bow on the strings of the body's own melody beating badump-a badump-a badump-a badump-a three beats of the heart meant something sometime. I love you I hate you and sometimes in neurotic crescendo till the heart stopped time to atrophy.
These were the little children on the park we use to hunt down to play with till they screamed and screamed and screamed with laughter and sometimes I wonder why we didn't belong, was it our too crooked fingers or our two glazing eyes marking the way into the unpaved territories of a good monster's mind. Well, I wonder what hope is, a fine feathered friend or a fine feathered judas, or just that delusion that we have futures.
Why can't I wait to be human again?
These lines were stolen from a... play? a show? an opera?
but I miss my Columbine.
I'll break my bones to break you free, they say I know. You're in my heart and soul They say, I know. But it's just another bounded crossroads, five rights don't make a wrong and six wrongs don't make a left but don't seven lefts make a right? we should run you off the road
Sometimes I wish to grow teeth like dentures, and trees like parachutes.
Longing for, whatever they long for, ducks and friends and things. This bridge is too long not to hear their footsteps and I've been wearing this same skin for too long to be saying little rhymes and riddles to my prey, I pray.
why do the children, well, why do the children we used to hunt, well why do the humans get to be children sometimes?
'cause we don't ever take a life.
Tears grow angels from awkward angles in the spiraling maelstrom, but spit grows only tears.
and sometimes I wish I could be human again.
I take one violin bow on the strings of the body's own melody beating badump-a badump-a badump-a badump-a three beats of the heart meant something sometime. I love you I hate you and sometimes in neurotic crescendo till the heart stopped time to atrophy.
These were the little children on the park we use to hunt down to play with till they screamed and screamed and screamed with laughter and sometimes I wonder why we didn't belong, was it our too crooked fingers or our two glazing eyes marking the way into the unpaved territories of a good monster's mind. Well, I wonder what hope is, a fine feathered friend or a fine feathered judas, or just that delusion that we have futures.
Why can't I wait to be human again?
These lines were stolen from a... play? a show? an opera?
but I miss my Columbine.
I'll break my bones to break you free, they say I know. You're in my heart and soul They say, I know. But it's just another bounded crossroads, five rights don't make a wrong and six wrongs don't make a left but don't seven lefts make a right? we should run you off the road
Sometimes I wish to grow teeth like dentures, and trees like parachutes.
Longing for, whatever they long for, ducks and friends and things. This bridge is too long not to hear their footsteps and I've been wearing this same skin for too long to be saying little rhymes and riddles to my prey, I pray.
why do the children, well, why do the children we used to hunt, well why do the humans get to be children sometimes?
'cause we don't ever take a life.
Tears grow angels from awkward angles in the spiraling maelstrom, but spit grows only tears.
and sometimes I wish I could be human again.
Literature
Reykjavik For Lezayre
so slip, i stumble. fumble with the
doorknob and your key falls with me
im falling into - there you are
i see you in
these ports and the sea foam shades
of the fog that parts at dawn the day
before i find myself - here you are
i want to be left alone but -
it was the taste, salty and too sweet
it was too much and my tongue
is not appeasing or the tricks
that tease -
come close. still this one last time
there’s something underneath your
skin steady i want
inside
you - to see, how i memorize you
in every gasp that splits the air around
us and when you cum - crashing
Literature
Blow It Up
Maniacal laughter
Caustic lights
LOUD NOISES!!
Literature
Latent
I've still got a poem in me, for you.
I know it, I feel it, I sense that it's true.
All of the feelings, all of the pain
forged into language-rich links of hot chain.
I've still got a sonnet, I've still got a rhyme -
there's only so much can be healed by time.
I need the catharsis, I crave the release,
the flow of the words out; the influx of peace.
I've still got a verse and it sits in my bone;
I'll know when it's ready, I'll know when it's grown.
the torch of my feelings is still hot and lit,
and my poem for you - well this isn't it.
More like a precursor, more like a trial run,
a practice, a test flight, a battle half-won,
a vanguard o
Suggested Collections
it's hard to write good prose.
in response to
[link] by ~Lank10
and then
[link] by *rottenpeeches
and
[link] by *Pretty-As-A-Picture
in response to
[link] by ~Lank10
and then
[link] by *rottenpeeches
and
[link] by *Pretty-As-A-Picture
© 2008 - 2024 y0urstalker
Comments14
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I'd call this prosetry.
I like your perspectives, and wordplay was quite fantastic.
I like your perspectives, and wordplay was quite fantastic.