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Literature Text
Your voice was softer
Than the thunder in the sandstorm,
And it whispered to me
The velvet black lies
That would haunt my unconscious
After the sandstorm ended.
I was left with the shards
Of glass leftover from the sandstorm.
The smooth glass
Slips through my teeth,
And slices my shoulders
Because it's too smooth.
Than the thunder in the sandstorm,
And it whispered to me
The velvet black lies
That would haunt my unconscious
After the sandstorm ended.
I was left with the shards
Of glass leftover from the sandstorm.
The smooth glass
Slips through my teeth,
And slices my shoulders
Because it's too smooth.
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Literature
Untitled
Once upon a time
I reached for the stars
And tried to climb
The sun's golden bars
But those rays of light
Cut short my flight
I reached for the stars
And fell from the sky
My hopes now scars
I can't justify
To myself alone
I am she who has flown
I tried to climb
Like Icarus the son
Melted wax come noontime
With nothing won
No promises made
No trophies gained
The sun's golden bars
Whose sentinels maintained
The ghosts of Mars
Those who remain
Close to my heart
Forever apart
The rays of light
Have faded away
The moon now night
Where the world decays
And I'm still fading
The sun never staying
Cut short my flight
Left behind it all
I try to
Literature
quarter past midnight
The nascence of fall whispers
Quietly behind my ears -
The ripple of a full golden moon
Over thick, inky waves.
The last storm of summer left
Gaping darkness in the glass city,
Contorted boughs etched against
A disconcertingly wide sky.
Months of transition.
Anesthesia.
The knowledge that one day
That there will be one
Empty bed in the house
(please have mercy
please).
Drowning out the fear in soundwaves late at night.
Tearing lives apart with my bare hands
(Blood swirling open like petals;
I'm so sorry).
Crippling self hate and doubt.
Running from the ones I should love
(the southern stars offer consolation; outside,
the milky way arc
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© 2014 - 2024 musicismylife78
Comments5
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Another well written but vague poem by you lol...I think I get but probably not haha