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Literature Text
are you listening?
one.
the trains are
burning. planes are
crashing, and i can only hope
they're not yours.
tides are coming in,
breaking the shore, carrying
the ground beneath you
away, away with them,
and we can only
watch.
but see that guy over there?
he's laughing.
-
two.
there are voices
inside my head, pulling
at the roots of my hair and
banging on the walls,
begging me, screaming at me:
'please, let me out',
'please hear me, hear me,
hear me.'
-
three.
until they're all i can hear,
until i want to give in and
give up, and they've won, they've
won, until i feel like the ability
to live life fully is a dream, a hope, a
something meant only
for the lucky, until
depression fills my lungs, and
i need a new source of oxygen, and
-
four.
oh, god,
i can't breathe.
-
five.
tell me it'll be
alright. please. just lie
and say
it'll be alright.
no.
one.
the trains are
burning. planes are
crashing, and i can only hope
they're not yours.
tides are coming in,
breaking the shore, carrying
the ground beneath you
away, away with them,
and we can only
watch.
but see that guy over there?
he's laughing.
-
two.
there are voices
inside my head, pulling
at the roots of my hair and
banging on the walls,
begging me, screaming at me:
'please, let me out',
'please hear me, hear me,
hear me.'
-
three.
until they're all i can hear,
until i want to give in and
give up, and they've won, they've
won, until i feel like the ability
to live life fully is a dream, a hope, a
something meant only
for the lucky, until
depression fills my lungs, and
i need a new source of oxygen, and
-
four.
oh, god,
i can't breathe.
-
five.
tell me it'll be
alright. please. just lie
and say
it'll be alright.
no.
Literature
compulsive liar.
once i asked you your favourite
colour, and you said, "the brown
of your eyes," so i put in one green
contact and told everyone that i
came out of the womb as a factory
defect, half-priced, damaged goods.
-
sometimes i am from canada and
sometimes i am from england and
sometimes i am from spain.
i've carefully tempered my accents
and plotted out my stories with
yellow and purple coloured pencils
on index cards. my origin changes
like the seasons.
"why do you lie to everyone?" you
ask.
"why not?" i reply.
-
i wear nametags that read "alicia"
and "liana" and "samantha," because
i want to know how it feels to be
someon
Literature
sunday thoughts
you are glowbracelets
and fireflies and oatmeal raisin cookies.
you are thunderstorms
and comic books and afternoons on the bleachers.
you are constellations
and crinkled denim and nights spent on the park bridge.
you are the best thing
i could ever hope for and i love you more than should be allowed.
Literature
sixmillion
in years gone by, you never called
and the phone lay untouched on the table
like spider legs gathering dust
on ebony wood
it's been fourthousandthreehundredandeightytwo
days since you left
and i've had over six million minutes
of memories of you
sometimes you would whisper
and glitter would fall in my ear
sometimes you would play ribguitar
(it was your own version of airguitar)
until your crimson fingers
could pluck no more
then you would kiss life
back into my limp body
i still bear the scars
where my skin was sown back together
but my ribcage has never been the same
and each day is a struggle to breathe
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love it.