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Literature Text
he wrote memento mori in the flesh
between his ribs, growing ivy 'round the
rotting of his lungs. oh, that satyr boy
was more narcoleptic than dystopian. with
menthol bones, he was infected & festering -
(you cannot dwell in a wasteland head forever, vagabond).
between his ribs, growing ivy 'round the
rotting of his lungs. oh, that satyr boy
was more narcoleptic than dystopian. with
menthol bones, he was infected & festering -
(you cannot dwell in a wasteland head forever, vagabond).
Literature
The kids aren't alright but there's always drugs
Late nights leave me with a tongue
That feels too big in my mouth,
And a head full of vowels that smash against each other
In the most wonderful way.
Like star vomit and pesticide veins,
All strewn together in defected daisy chain pupils,
And drunken babbles that ache from
The hollows of my eyelids.
We were jail bird tendencies
with a knack for ruffling feathers
because we are the angel girls,
back lit in neon beams of late nights
spent on the strip searching for fame.
Trying to stay young or die beautiful
With flowers in our hair and cloud dust
In the cracks of our lungs.
Wishing we were a little less disastrous
And a little more glamor
Literature
things that fall apart
2:36, new york city, i can
imagine you
looking out your window,
watching the cars pass by instead of the waves, and
something isn't right, because there's ocean in your blood and
i anchor you.
love,
you still believe in the girl i used to be, but
she's been gone longer than this white sky summer.
Literature
i'm sorry for only writing sad things,
but saturday night i wanted to offend god
into listening to just one line- needed to drag someone
into hearing the roar between my ears with me.
i'd like to write something you can put music to-
lyrical and pretty. funny. maybe irreverent.
but today what is most real to me
is not laughter. it is feeling short of breath.
empty of poetic language. unfunny. too long
for a limerick. unsuited to sonnets. musical only
in the slamming of my heart. an erratic beat
at best. endings. comparing crises of the mind
to someone throwing up in the bathroom
after too much beer pong and hard rock-
both are shameful to repeat in therapy
and i feel like i c
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my head hurts my bones ache i do not know if i am lonely anymore
Comments33
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your words make me sad, but it's the best kind of sad <3