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Literature Text
it's been a month
but my skin says
it's been
a month too long
your skin says
you've forgotten
the flocks of
sea gulls
taking flight in my body
the seashells lining
my throat
so i will always sound
like the ocean
the glass bottles
reflected in
the greenest of my eyes
you've forgotten
i'm just fog off the water
i'll be gone by tomorrow
but i'll be back
but my skin says
it's been
a month too long
your skin says
you've forgotten
the flocks of
sea gulls
taking flight in my body
the seashells lining
my throat
so i will always sound
like the ocean
the glass bottles
reflected in
the greenest of my eyes
you've forgotten
i'm just fog off the water
i'll be gone by tomorrow
but i'll be back
Literature
fingers dialing
I wrote a letter and buried it in the dirt. I wrote it for the tree's unraveling roots- just wanted to let them know that sometimes being awake isn't enough. I needed them to know that my mind is based on a story about a broken hand, and what goes on in my brain is not a rush of words, but rather a headache of loud sounds. and speaking is nothing more than these sounds falling out through my teeth. I needed to stop dreaming about losing my head and floating away. so this is me finalizing all things, saying I know I'm on the right track when I'm tied down and a train is coming. this is me screaming into a telephone, whispering that I'm scared
Literature
lament
i.
the simple sound of his name
is a grievance
but you, on the other hand,
are a writer –
a glorious indulgence,
notorious
for not giving a damn
that he doesn't
pay attention to
the curve of your hips,
or the way your furniture
is placed,
or the pictures on the wall
(and if he did
he would notice
that not one of them
is of him)
but
the little things
aren't important –
not anymore.
he tells you, "it is impossible to please
everyone so please yourself first"
and you tell him,
"you should try taking your own advice"
but he never
fucking
does.
ii.
he doesn't believe in god
because he knows,
he just knows
that he
Literature
this.
you have shaded eyes quiet smile dark hair love ─
and I could do anything
if it wasn't for you.
collapse the borders on the edge of my vision;
everything's faded out to black shards.
It's cliché and stupid and it won't mean a thing to you, but I know
I won't be able to breathe when you leave tomorrow.
the shield whispering around my skin
was untouchable, I thought, perfect;
no one would be able to get in.
But you passed right through without even trying.
arou
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Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow
And I'm somewhere in between
What is real and just a dream
lifehouse
Then waiting for tomorrow
And I'm somewhere in between
What is real and just a dream
lifehouse
© 2010 - 2024 hush-lullaby
Comments13
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The ending feels a little bit unrelated, or out of place... Besides that, I like this a lot. :]