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Literature Text
Out the corner of my eye
I see you, afar, happy
I feel myself rotting
From the inside
And clinging
To the past, so dead
So far and so dead…
I wrap my scarf like a noose
And without a trace, I wipe away
These unshed tears, and for once
I smile
I see you, afar, happy
I feel myself rotting
From the inside
And clinging
To the past, so dead
So far and so dead…
I wrap my scarf like a noose
And without a trace, I wipe away
These unshed tears, and for once
I smile
Literature
Neurological Annihilation
when overload comes, it is the tar
it is a black that coats and annihilates everything clean
it rips off the skin revealing the bloodied tissue beneath
every adipose cell
every muscle fibre
every shred of sanity is vulnerable to cackling callousness and rage
the sound a current which carries all joy and tranquility away
leaving only sorrow, exhaustion and a humble prayer that this end soon
before my limbs, immersed in this cloying dank depression and fever, follow their master - the tar - and cut off their connection to the searing nerve fibres that animate their digits.
one action and it all stops
but that action means there will never be.
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
After The Nothingness Of Everything At Once
At some point you realize
there is no whole of anything anymore,
even the silence is something
you're played into
as revolving doors resound
in stillness -- empty parking lots
with the residuals of the sound of tires
in dragged leaves, and wrapper.
The corner will always own the streamline of a crowd
into a bus,
their absence bearing them stronger than their presence
like a star revealed in its dead light --
the moon, a fragment
more whole that way,
more complete in its composite
with a sliver of itself
in the pollution of our clouds;
all these yesterdays, and future days
wavering beside you
contrapuntal
the silence having never re
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Very short poem, simply to get back in the groove...!
© 2014 - 2024 The-Archaeon
Comments6
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I wish I had known sooner how beautiful your poems are. (I never doubted it, I only never looked)