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Literature Text
today
you give yourself
away
to roads
seen only
through windows
wet
with rain; a sign
says
we are fifteen minutes
out of town,
but we say
we are
two years
out of luck
you surrender
to a map
(but it can never be
of life)
and so
we are still
lost
and no,
we will not find god here.
you give yourself
away
to roads
seen only
through windows
wet
with rain; a sign
says
we are fifteen minutes
out of town,
but we say
we are
two years
out of luck
you surrender
to a map
(but it can never be
of life)
and so
we are still
lost
and no,
we will not find god here.
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
dont write under the influence
Dr. Asclepius called me;
he told me i'm bipolar
(i still say it's luxuria)
My prescription?
Fucking medicine.
Take two pills:
Doctor's Orders
(as if anyone actually
obeys those, anyway)
Take another pill.
One for each time
you looked at me,
then two more if
i had looked back.
i'll take one more for that time you
branded fake
Literature
I'm waiting for November
this is what I think when I wait in a metro on the coldest day of the year:
two years ago your mother found me asleep in the snow with blue lips and purple hands. when she grabbed my hands to lift me to my feet, the air felt thick and the noises around me sounded slow and droopy. sometimes dead things look more alive than I do, like the leaves that blow in the wind. your mum had such a firm grip on my wrists and she was shaking my whole body to make me move. maybe her forced movements made me look alive, even if I was still asleep, even if I was no longer animate.
-
this is what I thought when I stared at the steam from the tea kettle:
on
Suggested Collections
=GwenavhyeurAnastasia is making me submit it.
because she loves it that much.
yeah, bite me, i broke my break again.
because she loves it that much.
yeah, bite me, i broke my break again.
© 2009 - 2024 Amertie
Comments100
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Everytime I scroll through the literature category I see these poems, and i read them, and they absolutely amaze me. And then when i'm done reading them i look to see the clever devient who wrote them and its always YOU! How cool is that! GREAT TALENT. Beautiful.