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Literature Text
It's searching fingertips,
gingerly placed empty spaces,
and wrong timing,
but now it's I love you, oh wait I really do,
please don't leave me under these carnival lights alone
because I can't bare another day without your syrup sweet blood,
you are the sugar in my coffee
and the honey on my toast,
the candy rotting my teeth,
and the molasses thick air I inhale on summer nights.
gingerly placed empty spaces,
and wrong timing,
but now it's I love you, oh wait I really do,
please don't leave me under these carnival lights alone
because I can't bare another day without your syrup sweet blood,
you are the sugar in my coffee
and the honey on my toast,
the candy rotting my teeth,
and the molasses thick air I inhale on summer nights.
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
+ Session
Crawling through our skin
Not just a little paper cut
It’s an opening to a higher voltage
To habits we can’t break any longer
While we try to find a cure from the inside
A cure for something itching across our skin
Don’t runaway another day
I never meant it when I said, “Don’t stay”
Please don’t let us become forgotten
It won’t be a part of me that can’t take that
My entire being would succumb to numbness
The foreword to my eulogy, “In the end…”
After that very first night
Lying away from you tore me apart
But after a while
Whenever I was with you
You’d start pus
Literature
Home.
The night is pitch-black all around, save for the uncountable mass of stars winking benevolently at me from the tarp of deepest indigo that hangs overhead. Everything feels suspended in that moment—the stars, the crescent moon, the sparse, gray-black clouds, this little island called Earth, and even myself. It feels as if my feet don't even touch the ground.
I feel as if I'm falling into them, the stars. There are so many of them, filling my field of vision, that I am taken by a sudden bout of dizziness and fall back into the Earth's gentle embrace. In response she twirls me around playfully, pulling me into a slow-motion
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Comments2
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I really like the second stanza the best, I think. Especially the second line of that stanza.