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Literature Text
i want one of those
little mirrors
that allow you
to see inside
yourself
the one dentists use
so they can check for cavities
and places where i’m
rotting away
little mirrors
that allow you
to see inside
yourself
the one dentists use
so they can check for cavities
and places where i’m
rotting away
Literature
liii.
while i sit in my crumpled shirt,
naked legs and bleached underwear
i ponder about silence and solitude
along with the brotherhood they share
they were the flat lines in heart monitors,
the shooting stars that happen behind your back
the budding flowers and sleeping children
the world that happens while you sleep
and like the ticking of the clock
they bear a loneliness
that was either too loud or unnoticed
Literature
Post Traumatic Storm Disorder
Wake up every morning to snow.
A blanket so graceful, inviting sleep,
Just a rest in bliss forevermore:
Full of nightmares from which you shall wake up no more
Watch yourself smothered as if a lobotomized man under a pillow,
Crushed under an infinite blizzard death becomes pleasure,
Even while demons haunt you in hell,
You'll beg an end to the storm just so as to shrivel in your cell
Did you ever give permission to this storm of noise?
The snow is but a symptom; sleep an effect,
The storm is baked based on one defect,
Based on the fact your life automatically provides permission for everything it destroys
It is done, hurricane finished an
Literature
The Death that is Left Behind
I.
Somewhere beneath
the layers laid,
alone is a man who scrapes
outward. He is
like the child fallen
down a deep well, who
sees the way is up and yet
scratches stone walls
instead--the flesh of
fingers giving way, symbolizing
a waning vivacity sealed
in the center of his diamond-hard
shell.
II.
Sound is a physic; music, a friction--
white hot motion to motionless
souls. It is pain and heat, terrible
and beautiful, healing, and the death
that is left behind.
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so freaking gorgeous and true