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Literature Text
These few words herein displayed
May not seem, but are indeed
Carefully chosen to be
Though absent of melody
The softest voice for we, we
Who know emptiness, nothingness
Void, whose company keeps us
Locked away, dreamless, sleepless
I know, my screams are silent
Too, quiet with lethargy
False and ignorant, regret:
I will never change.
From seven to six, lies
No more. Breathe, you're alive
You, us, countless, lost,
We choose our cage
But as we age, say
So too erode the chains
Keeping us tucked away
Endless forms beautiful
With a splash of colour
Not red, never again,
Paint overcast skies with
Tomorrow's sun.
From the withered flower
The shells of the past collapse
Neither rhyme nor reason
Can translate these feelings
Of freedom, free falling,
Free falling into the present
Open arms, unafraid, Tomorrow
Hold me close, Tomorrow
I trust not yet my legs
Tomorrow, cushion my falling awake.
May not seem, but are indeed
Carefully chosen to be
Though absent of melody
The softest voice for we, we
Who know emptiness, nothingness
Void, whose company keeps us
Locked away, dreamless, sleepless
I know, my screams are silent
Too, quiet with lethargy
False and ignorant, regret:
I will never change.
From seven to six, lies
No more. Breathe, you're alive
You, us, countless, lost,
We choose our cage
But as we age, say
So too erode the chains
Keeping us tucked away
Endless forms beautiful
With a splash of colour
Not red, never again,
Paint overcast skies with
Tomorrow's sun.
From the withered flower
The shells of the past collapse
Neither rhyme nor reason
Can translate these feelings
Of freedom, free falling,
Free falling into the present
Open arms, unafraid, Tomorrow
Hold me close, Tomorrow
I trust not yet my legs
Tomorrow, cushion my falling awake.
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
chill 2.0
friday night vibes are
a dialogue
between streetlamp
and sidewalk.
i am the strobe and
i spin again,
bullet-mouthed,
and so you tell me
to bite down.
you,
you reason,
are a good enough explanation,
expectations entrenched
insinuations undressed
on earth that feels too much like paper.
you,
you reason,
are good enough for a lulling conversation,
consolations congregating
up there for your consideration
up there with your condescension
condescension, condescension—
this is your slipping confession?
no.
this is the slip into heavy summer
when bitter winds still bite you
softer than i ever could.
this is the saturdays and sundays
eating i
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I should be getting Internet sometime this month. I was expecting the move to take a lot more out of me. But I've been on fire lately. Hopefully, things continue to go smoothly, both the move and emotionally! Knocks on wood.
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