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Literature Text
my head hangs heavily
amongst melancholy clouds
and the rain soaks my collar clean
as I sit staring at the
cold stone monarchs
of my ancestors;
that’s when I feel
your whisper in my veins.
fire sparks in the whites
of my eyes as your fingers
warm the hollows
of my threadbare hips,
I can feel the smoke filling
my lungs as you pull
me to my feet and
brush the dirt from
my ruby stained cheeks.
“dance for me, graveyard girl”
you call as your hands
pull me into a swinging embrace;
your smile seems to brighten
even the darkest shadows
of my worn out souls and
I can feel a lightness
bubbling up in the
pit of my bones--
“you’ve done the impossible"
I say as my lips turn up
into themselves
and I feel your fiery
rhythms echoing in
my furnace of
a chest.
Literature
you'll find the rest of my bones in the graveyard
trust is like a two-person tug of war and
you are a piece of gum, chewed then spat out.
trust should work like a traffic light.
what do you do when you start seeing his
hands in the form of bruises? when he stops
communicating unless it's in the form of alcoholic tang,
letters written on your tongue with his?
what do you do when the cold you start to feel doesn't
come from the outside, but in, and his body heat cannot
seep into your bones?
you bleach your hair and paint makeup over your
skin and try to become the kind of girl you never were.
you trust him until the red staining his lips isn't your own blood but
lipstick. you trust him even
Literature
palimpsest
1. “so have you, like, ever fallen in love with a straight girl?”
she asks. “i bet it’s like, totally awkward.”
i laugh and stutter through a no that comes out
sounding too much like your name, and then you are there,
slipping into my mind without knocking, like you have any right
to come back unannounced. it has been months since you called.
i suppose that counts as awkward, but when people say awkward,
i think of teenagers skinning their knees tripping after each other,
of the sound of knives scraping dinner plates during sunday supper—
i do not think of your voice when you tell me you have found
the
Literature
sextiotre
my tongue tastes like
lemon ice box pie, i
keep falling asleep
and i have no idea why
cotton
candy
raves
parlor
trick
bones
you don't need
to force opinions
down the throat
of a corpse; well,
you don't need to
force anything down
a corpse, unless you're
into that
dollhouses and
baby pink, she
wears three colors
and none of them
are black; how does
she survive in a
world so dark
i'm in love with
macabre: i think
that art was meant
to be dark and
emotional
(black and
blue, all
the way)
i can see ken
looking at
me, telling
me i'm better
than his girl
and that i'll
always be better;
he said he could
give me the world,
i got potential,
shar
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Inspired by this lovely piece of ear sex here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDKWgJ…
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Beautiful...