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Literature Text
I'd probably forge my whole heart, anew
if you only asked
but you're out of words, tonight
the stars are shining much too bright
unlike you've ever seen before
if you blink, you'll miss them
don't blink
you'll miss them
(you have already missed enough
to make you wonder what's really left)
your eyes are shining
reflections
of everything you hope to be—
so you cannot see me.
and sometimes I wish
you'd just shut your eyes
because they say resting
is the greatest relief
when you can sleep,
and let go of everything you've ever seen before
for something more
and something dark
because it's there, I stay
laying in wait
praying on a dream
praying on you
(I wonder that wishes
are a certain kind of religion
which just gives me
more grounds to be
faithless.)
but the stars are burning
too bright, tonight
you're lost in their shine
don't blink.
you'll miss me.
I think I wait for words that don't exist,
(if only you asked
before I eclipsed)
if you only asked
but you're out of words, tonight
the stars are shining much too bright
unlike you've ever seen before
if you blink, you'll miss them
don't blink
you'll miss them
(you have already missed enough
to make you wonder what's really left)
your eyes are shining
reflections
of everything you hope to be—
so you cannot see me.
and sometimes I wish
you'd just shut your eyes
because they say resting
is the greatest relief
when you can sleep,
and let go of everything you've ever seen before
for something more
and something dark
because it's there, I stay
laying in wait
praying on a dream
praying on you
(I wonder that wishes
are a certain kind of religion
which just gives me
more grounds to be
faithless.)
but the stars are burning
too bright, tonight
you're lost in their shine
don't blink.
you'll miss me.
I think I wait for words that don't exist,
(if only you asked
before I eclipsed)
Literature
The Smallest Things
I didn't know how To see the beauty in life Until the first time I held your hand. The sun dipped below the horizon Painting our little world a rosy pink. We've grown so much since then. Your touch still makes me just as red As the first time And you taught me how to love The smallest things.
Literature
in the box
is a brain, removed from shell
disconnected
from signal wires. still viable (?)
maybe.
blue teeth and instant grams
and gallons of conceit;
our granular portrait no longer flatters
unless dull spots and imperfections are rendered
out in the wash--
we mask and filter, ask and answer,
bask in banter
understanding no one ever even thinks
to change the thought they've already had.
old news, rotten
if revisited. inquisitive
minds have nothing better to do
but second guess assumptions,
better than first-blush conundrums
that don't fit the formula we've written
for how the world works;
it's absurd to think
this is where our
Literature
My Heart
Trigger Warning: death of a pet
This heart is not heavy,
no -
it is barely there,
and may float away.
This heart is not waiting
to open again -
it is gaping in shock
and gasping for you.
This heart is not broken,
it's broke -
devoid of currency
in any sense.
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One day, I'll be a supernova.
And you will all go blind.
I've never been that good at writing out how I feel.
And you will all go blind.
I've never been that good at writing out how I feel.
© 2012 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments36
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I wonder that wishes
are a certain kind of religion
which just gives me
more grounds to be
faithless.
Just brilliant.
are a certain kind of religion
which just gives me
more grounds to be
faithless.
Just brilliant.