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Literature Text
Silence hits you sometimes
Words are scattered like frightened children
You stand in the limbo between the truth and the present
Words will not come, afraid of the devastation they're about to bring
Fear is there instead, filling the gaps of your mind
You knew the truth wouldn't matter at all
Unsaid, it still hurts
Words are scattered like frightened children
You stand in the limbo between the truth and the present
Words will not come, afraid of the devastation they're about to bring
Fear is there instead, filling the gaps of your mind
You knew the truth wouldn't matter at all
Unsaid, it still hurts
Literature
Kiss me.
There's something in the pale placid blue of your eyes
Watching grey tendrils fade into a dark night
As they leap from the soft red embers
Perched at the end of an off brand cigarette.
"Everyone wants to be beautiful," you say,
Letting the words drip from the tarnished silver of your tongue
And slide down the makeup caked on your jaw
To lie in pools like nightsoil on street corners
Stiffened by winter winds and carelessness.
"You are beautiful," I say,
But the words ring a haunting hollow,
A single breath in a stillborn sea of wasted breaths,
Some shining schoolgirl promise
After a dozen deafened seasons have spun each other ro
Literature
Hidden
I can't accept it
I don't want to fall
But i can't change it
Because it's me.
I keep it hidden
I keep it locked
Inside a safe
A deep, dark vault
In the farthest depths
of my mind.
Literature
This is No Confession
Dark,
Heavy,
Blooming with black
Light.
The blunt sharp words,
No comfort,
Hitting down on me,
As though I am the dead meat on
A butcher's slab.
There was so absolution,
There was no reason,
This is no confession,
To ghostly ears.
For I have nothing to confess.
You've broken me,
And I hope I haven't broken you.
All I wanted....
All I wanted....
Brass owls on silver chains,
And notebooks,
Covered in artful scrawl.
Big, Victorian style pocket watches.
I know you love them.
Irish words sung to an Irish beat,
About love everlasting.
And I thought we could be like that.
Hanging from the ceiling was a dream catcher,
Stu
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Comments11
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so true.