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Literature Text
there was something about the way his whispers
entwined around the vertebrae of her neck
and caught in her ragged throat
that was reminiscent of nights long ago:
a heavy sky incensed with fears
forgotten, and a boy with full moon
eyes. she blamed her starry stomach
when she gagged on innards, unaware that
she herself was actually
undigestible.
stale and forgotten,
lingering like a smoke cloud off the lips
of someone with nothing better to say.
entwined around the vertebrae of her neck
and caught in her ragged throat
that was reminiscent of nights long ago:
a heavy sky incensed with fears
forgotten, and a boy with full moon
eyes. she blamed her starry stomach
when she gagged on innards, unaware that
she herself was actually
undigestible.
stale and forgotten,
lingering like a smoke cloud off the lips
of someone with nothing better to say.
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
A little thing called beauty
the bittersweet cacophony in the background noise,
a voluminous rhythm mirroring the beating of our hearts,
the sand slowly shifting down the hourglass,
like the stars to fade before the break of day,
or as the cool summer breeze silenced beneath the sun,
wondrous yet swiftly fleeting,
a crashing wave breaking for but a moment upon the shores of time
we count the passing seconds on twilight screens and wristwatches,
tiny grains to slip past the cracks of this fragile existence,
counting time like playing cards,
where every breath itself becomes a gamble,
we catalog moments and memories,
on temporary screens with vibrant color,
ignoring the c
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
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This is uncharacteristically short for me. I was trying something new. Feel free to tell me if it works or not.
Inspired by the beautiful way *glossolalias manages to describe events, and the way ~melodysnow can always perfectly make the reader envy her words.
Inspired by the beautiful way *glossolalias manages to describe events, and the way ~melodysnow can always perfectly make the reader envy her words.
© 2013 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments34
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This:
she herself was actually
undigestible.
stale and forgotten,
lingering like a smoke cloud off the lips
of someone with nothing better to say.</>
So, can I stop crying now? This is a beautiful poem. Painful, yes, but beautiful.
she herself was actually
undigestible.
stale and forgotten,
lingering like a smoke cloud off the lips
of someone with nothing better to say.</>
So, can I stop crying now? This is a beautiful poem. Painful, yes, but beautiful.