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Literature Text
You are irresistible,
you are fine,
I only wish that you were mine,
I sometimes feel your arms around me,
and then I open my eyes but I cannot breathe,
If you were but mine to keep,
my body would no longer weep,
Now I feel old and older still,
I love you more than my own free will.
you are fine,
I only wish that you were mine,
I sometimes feel your arms around me,
and then I open my eyes but I cannot breathe,
If you were but mine to keep,
my body would no longer weep,
Now I feel old and older still,
I love you more than my own free will.
Literature
In the pretext of sleep
In the pretext of sleep, my mind wanders even though I am physically exhausted. I can feel the dull ache of my tiring body slowly cooling down and relaxing. Surely, my conscious realizes that it’s time to be resting my body. The second this thought of rest arrives, it is rudely interrupted by the overwhelming thoughts of the wandering mind. I can feel my thoughts ranging from the tiniest of incidents that happened throughout the day, to my deepest insecurities. The worst part about this entire charade is that its intensity gets more when I’m the most spent physically. I guess its just a part and parcel of being an introverted over
Literature
The Cycle, Pt. 1
A bright orbit starts the day,
Slowly opening my eyes from The Bed,
After a night of sleep and comfort.
Too much comfort.
Because I don't leave The Bed right away
(Like I know I should)
To start the day.
Time ticks but eventually I rise,
Accepting the loss of newfound comfort with
The Fan and The Blanket and The Pillow.
So I proceed to The Shower,
Different way of feeling cool than The Bed.
And yet here, I'm warmer and accept it.
Too much acceptance.
Because I don't leave The Shower right away,
(Like I know I should)
Already cleansed for the day.
Time ticks but eventually I step out,
Accepting the loss of newfound comfort with
The Warm and
Literature
Who am I?
Who am I? just a thought.
A thought of infinite length about myself. An eternal idea that I can't express.
I'm a lonely wind that blows away every touch. With no other gift than being incorporeal, temporary.
Not a single rest, not a single smile for the lonely being.
Trapped on my desire begging for a hug, a kiss.
Who am I? a monster. A monster with one thousand faces, all of them scary, all of them "fucked up".
I am the nightmare, my nightmare. A dream of blood and sorrow, a dream of loneliness and spikes.
A dream in which I hurt the ones I love and everybody, seeking revenge, try to erase me.
Who am I? The sadness. The pain. The ra
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I never rhyme but tonight I just felt like it.
© 2012 - 2024 blackdahlia911
Comments6
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The last line...just....it stunned me. Good job!