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Literature Text
she speaks
occasionally
that once-in-a-while way
familiar to earthquakes
and the end
of civilizations
she shakes
when she's alone
understandable I'd
shake (alone with her)
see
she's buried in the bottle
and
you can bury me in boston
when
wide-eyed and wondering
this same sky comes crashing
down
and I
won't claim I wasn't warned
about hanging stars from expectations
but I'm
second nature embarrassment and
first nature proceed anyhow
even now
I'm still reaching
but she's on the other side
of beautiful
occasionally
that once-in-a-while way
familiar to earthquakes
and the end
of civilizations
she shakes
when she's alone
understandable I'd
shake (alone with her)
see
she's buried in the bottle
and
you can bury me in boston
when
wide-eyed and wondering
this same sky comes crashing
down
and I
won't claim I wasn't warned
about hanging stars from expectations
but I'm
second nature embarrassment and
first nature proceed anyhow
even now
I'm still reaching
but she's on the other side
of beautiful
Literature
perennial
i.
if i had better recollection i would remember sticky summer
skin against my fingertips and hipbones; your smile was
never so large as when we caught fireflies and fell asleep
intertwined beneath all the stars of the milky way sky
ii.
there were times in autumn that you took my hands and
shared your gloves before sharing a kiss; we stumbled
through fallen leaves and all the things we could not say
with lingering gazes and smiles over backyard bonfires
iii.
i lost the winter moments when you stole my breath in
visible gasps and pressed your lips against mine so they
would not chap; we were snow angels writing on the
ground but
Literature
whimsical things
she can't sleep at night, so instead she watches the stars from her bed and writes poetry in the folds of her mind. she watches the sky change colour from darkest purple to a light blue and watches as the stars dissapear one by one. she feels redundant, watching the sunrise.
-
we're sitting on her bedroom floor and she's got a spoon and a lighter, a syringe and a lack of something to keep her happy. sometimes i think, when we're here, that she should write her poetry down. that she could escape some things. i never tell her out loud though; we just shoot heroin and fuck with the stars. we shoot heroin and fuck with ourselves until everythin
Literature
i dont understand
have you ever woken up and not thought anything at all?
-
somtimes i find myself thinking that 'it'd be fun to go and stand out in the rain' so i do. but once i'm out there i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be invigorating to take off my clothes' so i do. but once i've done that, i find myself thinking 'wouldn't it be beautiful to climb on the rooftop', so i do. and then once i'm standing there, i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be magical to fall in love' and so i try. i try and try and try but i can't. and so there i am, standing naked on my rooftop in the rain trying to fall in love.
-
sometimes i find myself imagining that all w
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Full Title: you can pretend it's someone else singing
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Lovely poem!