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Literature Text
I felt something move, just a moment ago...
In fits and starts and baby steps,
it made its way into the open.
I sat alone, in the dark,
and stared at the sky.
Body, quiet & still; mind, spinning.
(perhaps, in time with the earth's rotation.)
Believe me when I say
I never know what I'm doing,
but I always know how I'm feeling.
Tonight, I appreciate the cold.
Tomorrow, I'll miss the shoulder I could cry on.
Every passing second
takes a part of me with it.
Every word I write
makes me a little harder
to understand.
So, drink yourself to sleep -
I can watch stars
burn out as good
as anyone.
In fits and starts and baby steps,
it made its way into the open.
I sat alone, in the dark,
and stared at the sky.
Body, quiet & still; mind, spinning.
(perhaps, in time with the earth's rotation.)
Believe me when I say
I never know what I'm doing,
but I always know how I'm feeling.
Tonight, I appreciate the cold.
Tomorrow, I'll miss the shoulder I could cry on.
Every passing second
takes a part of me with it.
Every word I write
makes me a little harder
to understand.
So, drink yourself to sleep -
I can watch stars
burn out as good
as anyone.
Literature
ocean burning.
one.
before she met you, she would reach for the sun while standing on the branches of trees, arms stretched towards the sunlight, reaching and waiting.
now, happiness is like a summer memory in the dead of winter - still there, but fading too fast to hold onto. now, she sits on rooftops with you at night, and the two of you watch as the city lights go out one by one.
two.
sometimes, when you laughed, she was reminded of the wind rushing through trees in winter - melodic and beautiful, but still cold, unforgiving.
the two of you watched the waves of the ocean take away the beach, piece by piece.
you were the waves.
she was the sand.
t
Literature
The Yellowiest December
She was atheist and
he was a painter who
believed in everything
and the world, the glories
it held, endless fountains of
knowledge to be obtained.
"It's an amazing situation,"
he mused, running his hands
through her red hair.
She believed in asbestos,
that it was her favorite
color and he believed that she
needed more things to believe in.
He ate cranberry sauce while she
read him poetry about cats and disciples
and classical compositions and the
relevance in it all. It
was all he could do to say, "Wow,"
staring at the sky, effusion of clouds
draining, pouring out before dispersing.
Her blue flower dress smelt of
chamo
Literature
My heart or yours?
01."Do you know what we are?"
"We're time tables and crossed fingers and forgotten wonders
of yesterday's dreams.
We're the shadows on concrete made from dandelions sprouting
up from between the cracks.
And we are stray raindrops on windy,
sun-soaked mornings."
"We are alive."
02. You never screamed so loud, so angry as you did today.
But then you smiled. And I could hear your happiness a mile away.
"It's you. It's always you." You were trembling, but you wouldn't let me get too close.
"I'm sorry I made you this way," I whispered, shoving secrets down the neck
of my ol
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Originally Written: 11-11-04
Slightly Edited: 10-18-08
Full Title: Medication in the key of Ursa Minor
Slightly Edited: 10-18-08
Full Title: Medication in the key of Ursa Minor
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