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Literature Text
you called her supernova
because she shone the brightest.
you claimed her laugh lit up entire planets
and sailors were guided home by the twinkle in her eye.
she was supposedly the center of your solar system;
your world revolved around her very being.
until she exploded
and the light you lived by went out for good.
because she shone the brightest.
you claimed her laugh lit up entire planets
and sailors were guided home by the twinkle in her eye.
she was supposedly the center of your solar system;
your world revolved around her very being.
until she exploded
and the light you lived by went out for good.
Literature
Untitled
Palms balmy with chlorophyll
I would clench lighter fluid between spider print finger tips
Palms slick with perspiration and adrenalin
Cheap liquor to give us a mediocre buzz
Watered down whisky and crumpled cigarettes
We'd slink into broken down kiddie parks, quiet and unwanted
Kicking our legs to the skies in an attempt to life ourselves off the earth
But wax melts far too quickly and a nosedive into the earth's core
Seems strangely appealing, I guess we're the kids parent's warn their children about
I can hardly doubt them, we are patchwork masochists
Finding solace in flowering bruises and cross hatched stitches
Pick pocketing pennies
Literature
The Slaughtered Children.
Why? Why? They were children! Children! How could someone strip a child, multiple children, of their innocence! How could someone strip them of life?
Children are one of the few good things in life. Always learning, not dispicable liars or haters or cheaters like the majority of adults, not able to commit horrendous crimes, not aware of the greater scheme of life going on around them. Believer's they are. In a child's mind, the characters of stories such as Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are alive. Magic is real and all around us, commanded and cast by the fairies who were blessed by the mighty kings and queens from far far away. In a chi
Literature
Untitled
I spend my sleepless nights
deconstructing her suicide
and gnawing on regret--
because I always told her she was a star-child
born for better worlds and quiet days
alive at night and in the rain.
And as I lay on summer grass, damp with dew,
with only the moon to witness, and
with her head on my chest,
her breathing even and slow with the whisper of sleep,
I promised her that she would be fine.
But I am a liar--
white words turn black in time,
as she was no fool, no child, no blessed angel.
She was the girl who had demons in her veins
raking her wrists, pulling at her throat
bleeding in her eyes and staining her heart
she
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" pull apart the dark, compete against the stars with all our hearts 'till our temporary brilliance turns to ash."
this poem was also written on lettrs and then edited slightly.
feel free write me if you happen to see my letters on there.
this poem was also written on lettrs and then edited slightly.
feel free write me if you happen to see my letters on there.
© 2014 - 2024 mismatched-misfits
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