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Literature Text
Can you feel it now?
Anti-gravity
Tricking your body
Into sinking low
Passed the scope of the known
Passed setting stars, down, down,
Always, forever, down…
I can’t tell above from below
Trapped is my plight in a silent scream
I lack the frequency, or is it bravery
To let loose sound from these chapped lips
I’m afraid of what’s hidden between the lines
Not the lies, but the truth in the white noise
Afraid of the shapes in the static:
I’ll never make it back.
Your plastic smile promised amidst flickering imagery a promised afterlife,
An alleged paradise with which to feed a faith not mine, hoping mayhap to cheat death,
Even if pretentiously, falsely adopted in panic induced, delirious fervor.
I fly amongst the debris, all that’s left hindering me no more, for, I’m free
I am become alive.
Anti-gravity
Tricking your body
Into sinking low
Passed the scope of the known
Passed setting stars, down, down,
Always, forever, down…
I can’t tell above from below
Trapped is my plight in a silent scream
I lack the frequency, or is it bravery
To let loose sound from these chapped lips
I’m afraid of what’s hidden between the lines
Not the lies, but the truth in the white noise
Afraid of the shapes in the static:
I’ll never make it back.
Your plastic smile promised amidst flickering imagery a promised afterlife,
An alleged paradise with which to feed a faith not mine, hoping mayhap to cheat death,
Even if pretentiously, falsely adopted in panic induced, delirious fervor.
I fly amongst the debris, all that’s left hindering me no more, for, I’m free
I am become alive.
Literature
Somnium
I hadn't slept for three days. I could hear colours; blues whispered in my ears, tales of melancholy. I sat curled in that red walled room as the moon watched in; his eye golden, round, like low hung fruit. It felt so easy to reach, to pluck out of the sky shards of dew, to hold my hands up against the warming sun, to drink that milky inner city fog and to pretend pretend that I could dream in four dimensions.
Literature
Fortune-getter.
I will write my own palm.
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
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You're the pulse in my veins
You're the war that I wage
Can you change me?
Can you change me?
You're the love that I hate
You're the drug that I take
Will you cage me?
Will you cage me?
You're the pulse in my veins
You're the war that I wage
Can you change me?
Can you change me?
From the monster you made me?
The monster you made me?
What are some of the bands that you guys listen to when you write? If you listen to music at all when doing so that is. I'm having trouble finding something new.
You're the war that I wage
Can you change me?
Can you change me?
You're the love that I hate
You're the drug that I take
Will you cage me?
Will you cage me?
You're the pulse in my veins
You're the war that I wage
Can you change me?
Can you change me?
From the monster you made me?
The monster you made me?
What are some of the bands that you guys listen to when you write? If you listen to music at all when doing so that is. I'm having trouble finding something new.
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Comments3
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I listen to music and let myself get lost in it, mixing my thoughts with the melody and hoping inspiration comes up. So I can relate to this poem