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Literature Text
the sky was a golden red that looked like dragon fire, only warmer. the salty water was mixing in his veins and he thought he would be beautiful if only he could swallow enough oxygen to make him light headed; make him fly. there was something missing from his tongue though, and it stung like a bee to think about;
there was a rumble of thunder and a crack in his chest; sparking electricity to his inner organs that he thought redundant. the wind messed his hair like the devils and birds laid eggs in his collar bone because it was so stonily and heavenly white. he screamed like a choir boy “forgive me father for i have sinned” down the megaphone because it made him feel closer to;
the waves were whispering to him that the sea horses knew his secrets, and the mermaids lazing on rocks had sunlight radiating from beneath their golden hair. it made him feel inferior because his voice was cracked and his fingernails were covered in dirt from trying to dig his way home. he was one of two polar twins and he was the lesser. it was ok, though, because the rain made him feel less like november and more like;
he wonders how long it would take to drown in the angry sea, and how beautiful a death it would be. his hair would stick to his forehead like mothers kisses and the ocean would wrap around his body and break his ribs. the darkness could swallow him whole and the kingdom beneath the waves was worthy of such sweet words. it was just a small price to pay for him to lie in the wash and sleep, and dream of;
[her]
</code>there was a rumble of thunder and a crack in his chest; sparking electricity to his inner organs that he thought redundant. the wind messed his hair like the devils and birds laid eggs in his collar bone because it was so stonily and heavenly white. he screamed like a choir boy “forgive me father for i have sinned” down the megaphone because it made him feel closer to;
[her]
</code>the waves were whispering to him that the sea horses knew his secrets, and the mermaids lazing on rocks had sunlight radiating from beneath their golden hair. it made him feel inferior because his voice was cracked and his fingernails were covered in dirt from trying to dig his way home. he was one of two polar twins and he was the lesser. it was ok, though, because the rain made him feel less like november and more like;
[her]
</code>he wonders how long it would take to drown in the angry sea, and how beautiful a death it would be. his hair would stick to his forehead like mothers kisses and the ocean would wrap around his body and break his ribs. the darkness could swallow him whole and the kingdom beneath the waves was worthy of such sweet words. it was just a small price to pay for him to lie in the wash and sleep, and dream of;
[her]
</code>
Literature
i'll wipe your tears away.
my veins are
filled
with cyanide and happiness and
you can't make me
sad today.
-
i fell asleep thinking it
was
thursday but it was friday and
i didn't wake up
until sunday after-
noon and we sang.
-
and how are
these conformists finding
our hiding places and
the secrets of our
minds, we can't hide.
so we dance in the streets from mid-
night till dawn and we
swore we'd never be
sad
again.
Literature
And tonight.
I lay facing an off white, and shadow ridden ceiling.
The blankets are itching, and the pillow is deflated and providing no support at all. The sheets are too starched and they scrape and rest uncomfortably over my skin. And the only sound, is a soft ticking of the clock on the far wall.
It's a far cry from the night before.
We lay facing a ceiling riddled in tiny glowing stars.
The blankets were soft, and the pillows weren't even used, I had your chest. The sheets were tossed off, we were creating our own warmth.
And the only sound, was your heartbeat in my ear.
I've heard of a multitude of love related disorders, syndromes and diseas
Literature
i let myself become a candle one cold, windy night
I thought I killed Poetry---
but Poetry killed me. Left for dead,
now I don't even know how to write
anything resembling good literature
without resorting to sex-jokes, bad
puns, or half-wit metaphors. I am
a half-wit metaphor. I am
the shadow of a poet, but
my candlewax-poetic cry
for attention burnt out. I
extinguished the Sun, so
the remaining silhouette
of my former conscious
vanished into the night
like a doused flame.
Gone, forgotten. I am
a fallen chunk of rock
from Earth's Sky, now
Sunless. The kindred
soul I once let bloom
freely in Innocence's
Garden lay bef
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it felt nice to write like this for a change.
© 2009 - 2024 falloutboymad22
Comments100
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you are just alot amazing :]
hoping to see more~ so i'll be watching
... you can insert creepy music here if you wish x.
hoping to see more~ so i'll be watching
... you can insert creepy music here if you wish x.