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Literature Text
i.)
cold:
the black afterglow in
your eyes is framed by shadows
speaking of nights and days
spent weeping instead of sleeping;
ii.)
you tell me that yesterday,
(or was it today?) you became a
half-light,
living in the corners of the
bedroom walls and in the
criss-crossed ceiling cracks.
iii.)
we don’t speak at night anymore;
instead we drown in oceans
of emotions too big for our
king-sized covers. Waves ripple
and sirens scream silently under
the inky cover of the sea surface -
we are trapped in a tangle of
seaweed thoughts deeper than our
trust knows how to dive.
(I’m running out of ideas on how
to salvage this shipwreck)
cold:
the black afterglow in
your eyes is framed by shadows
speaking of nights and days
spent weeping instead of sleeping;
ii.)
you tell me that yesterday,
(or was it today?) you became a
half-light,
living in the corners of the
bedroom walls and in the
criss-crossed ceiling cracks.
iii.)
we don’t speak at night anymore;
instead we drown in oceans
of emotions too big for our
king-sized covers. Waves ripple
and sirens scream silently under
the inky cover of the sea surface -
we are trapped in a tangle of
seaweed thoughts deeper than our
trust knows how to dive.
(I’m running out of ideas on how
to salvage this shipwreck)
Literature
sada
i hope my children will
live without knowing how
it feels to be a poet; they
don't deserve to hurt
they don't need
to tattoo the name
of the boy or the
girl they love onto
their hearts, with
eyes open wide, eating
away at their inner
cheeks because they love
the t a s t e of
self-DESTRUCTION
(the body is the
temple of
g o d ;
a vessel of divinity
but we are not angels, we
are men and women sold to
each other for five cents,
ten extra if you're a virgin,
call me crazy, i'm fucking insane
i'm starting to care less, why
should we work harder if we just
die in the end)
my children will tell me
that i should pick up the
gun if i don't gi
Literature
liquidation of the self
and while it lasts,
the craved weakness
behind the ribs,
behind the skull,
carve the notches into
the the kneecaps
and the wrists
(to count the days past
to know how much longer
till the disappearance, till
invisibility usurps the heartbeat)
Literature
what would you like to forget?
this. try to forget the way
you braided flowers in my hair
and when i wrote you poems
you made ballads out of them,
i used to fall asleep to your voice
now it is your voice that keeps me up at night
us. what we used to be.
the mythology i wove us, the voice messages
you’d leave me, the way you knew
when i was at breaking point
and you’d take me away, help me isolate
and remedicate, numb and destroy the pain
you’d tell me i was your sunshine
you. i wish i’d never fallen in love
with a girl i could never quite reach,
i suppose every kiss we ever had taught me
that you wouldn’t stay, you’ve seen me break
but
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Comments10
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That's so heartbreaking to read, yet many can relate to it. Pain can be so powerful, so crippling to many people, and this poem expresses that idea beautifully yet sadly.