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Literature Text
she made love
a best of
list
spilling not quite
secrets splitting
glittering seconds
for display
she been
singing those
catchy hooks
in me
coatin' that
hunger
with a
sugar tongue
but I've been
fixin'
to be broke
for a long
time
spent saving
unspoken sayings
structured letters
to grope
to choke
an open throat
something like a
closed
mindfieldday
replace the pressure
with a spray
of expelled
syllables
EXPLODE!
scattering
a hope
that won't
stay (buried)
a best of
list
spilling not quite
secrets splitting
glittering seconds
for display
she been
singing those
catchy hooks
in me
coatin' that
hunger
with a
sugar tongue
but I've been
fixin'
to be broke
for a long
time
spent saving
unspoken sayings
structured letters
to grope
to choke
an open throat
something like a
closed
mindfieldday
replace the pressure
with a spray
of expelled
syllables
EXPLODE!
scattering
a hope
that won't
stay (buried)
Literature
once more with feeling
the earth we lived on
had two moons.
(at night
they both
held hands).
-
i keep remembering
our naked mornings
and our naked nights.
we were the
sound of the ocean.
wed smoke
poison
and watch
our liquid sex squirm.
-
lets bleed
all over the carpet,
were knee-deep
in secrets.
i miss
your voice
when you still sang
and when my heart
wasnt your
pincushion.
yes,
i use to think
you were from a city
made of stars,
now you sit in the
dark waiting to be
reborn.
at least i
still have your
picture
to smile at.
Literature
we're all liars
1.
you are a
poorly written cliché teen drama.
"mum, he got me pregnant."
"your daddy's gonna kill that boy."
no.
just kidding.
there is a jar of salty tears
from all the times
you lost control
but you bleed
that kind of
bullshit,
don't you? yeah,
and your lovers soak it up.
when you look at them
they die inside.
they lie their heads on your chest
and they are thinking,
"oh, how warm he is,"
and they are wondering
if they stare back deeply enough,
would you stay?
but in the end
you and people
don't mix,
much like oil and water.
in the end
you always leave.
gone, like the leaves the wind sweeps
off the streets.
but
Literature
we could be like venn diagrams
i fall down a lot
and while i'm laying back to the ground, somewhat starry-eyed with both my palms slightly grazed, i've been reduced to trying to explain the size of the sky to you. this is what i do when i have other things i should be saying but can't cough up right now. instead i'm mumbling about how the clouds have been wringing the bright blues of the sky dry with sapphire ribbons of raindrops for days. or about when you meet me at the shore and send shivers down my spine, all i can think about is how the sky never ends. i want to stand up and explain to you that i like my lightning without thunder and that i want whatever it is that's
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full title: this is why we don't have nice things
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There really ought to be a book!