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Literature Text
two weeks until the end of the world,
and i’m busy stockpiling all my regrets,
writing letters to flaws i don’t care
to fix, and trying to learn to draw
infinity. it’s time for two truths and a lie:
1. i was drunk for an hour on
good vibes and loneliness and
that quote “from the moment we
are born we begin to die”
2. and god, Bianca, you still show up
in my dreams; glaze-eyed and
more vocal than you ever were
when you were half-alive
1. (how close i came to arctic happiness
when you froze in my mind,
snowflake breath lingering like
the soundtrack of my breakdown)
now, she tells me she is sick
of the clothes stretched tight like
a second skin, and the gaping silences
between her ribs, and the singsong
unimportance glazing over her
hollywood-hangover eyes. she blossoms
like an earthquake, finally
growing into the goosebumps
and hollow bones her father
gave her-- i want to cure the world,
use a freeze ray to halt time
and kiss every empty wound;
i'm becoming poison, and i’m sorry
my neglected hallucinations
share the floor where i sleep.
dear madalyn, they don’t make
medications to give you a purpose.
all alone, you were digging graves
in stardust and writing epitaphs
in the blood of your own self-inflicted
paranoia. now, the schoolchildren pick
dandelions for your recovery, and
their mothers weep as they see their own
offspring reflected in your eyes.
and i’m busy stockpiling all my regrets,
writing letters to flaws i don’t care
to fix, and trying to learn to draw
infinity. it’s time for two truths and a lie:
1. i was drunk for an hour on
good vibes and loneliness and
that quote “from the moment we
are born we begin to die”
2. and god, Bianca, you still show up
in my dreams; glaze-eyed and
more vocal than you ever were
when you were half-alive
1. (how close i came to arctic happiness
when you froze in my mind,
snowflake breath lingering like
the soundtrack of my breakdown)
now, she tells me she is sick
of the clothes stretched tight like
a second skin, and the gaping silences
between her ribs, and the singsong
unimportance glazing over her
hollywood-hangover eyes. she blossoms
like an earthquake, finally
growing into the goosebumps
and hollow bones her father
gave her-- i want to cure the world,
use a freeze ray to halt time
and kiss every empty wound;
i'm becoming poison, and i’m sorry
my neglected hallucinations
share the floor where i sleep.
dear madalyn, they don’t make
medications to give you a purpose.
all alone, you were digging graves
in stardust and writing epitaphs
in the blood of your own self-inflicted
paranoia. now, the schoolchildren pick
dandelions for your recovery, and
their mothers weep as they see their own
offspring reflected in your eyes.
Literature
becoming undone
the rain is
monstrosity
to swallow like foam-lipped ocean;
a silent drowning like the sinking of
the moon on the horizon
like the way strangers disappear--
we never see them slip away;
droplets into cracked ground, they are
white-faced, lunar-faced
into the wall of water--
the rush of nature
the breath of her
petrichor
then
scented in the best
sunset-tinted way...
oh, but that's the sunrise--
the beginning dressed
in a brighter end.
Literature
burn with me
i would love to squeeze a story
out of your tongue on
one of our mornings out; i'd be
let inside like quicksand. see, you
don't
really have
a choice.
i would love to act
withdrawn with you, pretension
sizzling at the burn of our
paper cigars, riding boulevard
upon boulevard on a bicycle
fueled with acrylics. i would
like it if you didn't
crumble into an oceanic coma;
your lungs can take
only so much stress.
i digress, lover, or
friend if you haven't sparked
a bonfire in your eyes for me
yet. i heard i'm a great catch
for wanna-be poets; they find
my sp2-hybridized figure, the holy
vessel of Eve's
children. never
mind how we lost Eden
Literature
9729 kilometers away, to be exact.
i have these bones like flowers-
fragile and finely plucked,
these lily stargazers
are kissing ocean beds,
making love to sirens
while yearning
for a taste of her
wander(lust).
i want to tape maps to my limbs-
throw caution to the wind
as i gather up
every love letter receipt,
from every false attempt
i ever wrote her
& forget for just a moment
that even still
light-years away,
she does not love me.
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inspirations:
my mind is barely coherent enough to form a grammatically correct sentence, i'm sorry in advance if this is terrible
two truths and a lie1.
i was a manhattan baby, atomic blue
with dissent, top heavy like a bullhorn
and healthy, better
i held my breath, diving into the
world headfirst, magnitude
this game of life would be by my rules
2.
i've been in love more times than i'd like to
and not nearly enough,
i don't know what that means, i thought
i had a good one once
but didn't we all? maybe i'm just
too afraid to ask for help,
pride weakens the heart so, that paper
crane organ, call it a writer's block
a.
if i could i'd run across the world for you,
map my route in tired constellations,
the north star keeping a watchful eye;
i'd collect soil from the earth and make
reasons why my hands are shakinghow close i came to this, becomingand apparently `FuzzyHoser can't stand the word stardust ;)
poison for bronzed models, monotone and efflorescent
and how much longer shall she be able to
inhabit the divine with eyes like lunar landings
turned in her fifteen-year-old
drug dealer and now she misses pyrotechnics
being handwritten and feminine, i would
express myself by inking runes across my forearms
dear cassandra, no blonde angels
read your poems so why don't you call me
and we can we sleep on floors
and paint in dust, a pair of drunken boats
every time you mention graduate school
acceptance rates, you kill the holographic universe
she has lived in los angeles her
twenty-one years, so she'
my mind is barely coherent enough to form a grammatically correct sentence, i'm sorry in advance if this is terrible
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Comments36
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I know this comes from a place of deep pain...it's beautiful, and reading it makes me ache.
You are beautiful. I hope you know that.
You are beautiful. I hope you know that.