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Literature Text
my mouth has never
shaped
itself
to swallow the brittle edges
of a prayer,
never felt its walls rubbed raw
by cold stones that swell with grief
and rattle
against my teeth like
some foreign bird. but victor,
i would learn the tongues of
a thousand gods
if it would make me believe
that you are a little
happier in death.
shaped
itself
to swallow the brittle edges
of a prayer,
never felt its walls rubbed raw
by cold stones that swell with grief
and rattle
against my teeth like
some foreign bird. but victor,
i would learn the tongues of
a thousand gods
if it would make me believe
that you are a little
happier in death.
Literature
how to be spineless
i.
i was running kites in
an empty airport terminal.
it was zen.
ii.
i was in a place where i
didn't have to be angry anymore.
i was protected by my own
sanctuary, digging itself
under my fingernails to keep
hell out.
sanctuary is its own friendless
hell. it's where polaroids
disintegrate and hearts go mute.
in hell and in my sanctuary,
there's nobody for me
to call a liar [but me].
iii.
i forgot to tell myself
the truth about my petty cure
at the tip of this arrow:
life is a science,
not a eulogy; love sometimes equates
to third degree burns.
iv.
i have a map made of
fire. it's a timeline and
it tells me when your
Literature
now you know better
you were never one for shakespeare's iambic pentameter,
so you nixed the meter and measure the gods composed
and wrote your own sonnet in time with the beat of your heart
and the shiver of your tapered spine.
instead of crisp and company issued egg shell paper,
you dragged the pen you bought yourself back in sixth grade
across the smooth canvas of tanned skin, littered with sunset bruises
and did not mind the clashing of colours.
you always wondered if it were true what the newsstands said,
that art flutters to life when misery takes shape
but you never really believed such nonsense,
until your spine shattered, your inkwell ran dr
Literature
What I Now Know.
one day you will understand:
fireworks are made of
chemistry and calculations.
they will turn to smoke
faster than they bloom.
one day you will realise that magic
(like fireworks)
is mostly lies.
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Trying to get back into the groove of things. :]
I really want to make a "Victor" series, most of which would be nothing like this. But I can't seem to get started.
I really want to make a "Victor" series, most of which would be nothing like this. But I can't seem to get started.
© 2011 - 2024 CyneNoir
Comments37
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"cold stones that swell with grief
and rattle..."
forgot how full of fantastic you always are. this piece travels so many places, leaves such carefully framed footprints there.
and rattle..."
forgot how full of fantastic you always are. this piece travels so many places, leaves such carefully framed footprints there.