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Literature Text
i. like porcelain dolls, you always liked delicate things the most.
you breathed in my sea-glass ears when I asked you if that was why you chose me,
why you picked me out in a crowd of empty bodies and rosy faces.
you simply smiled and held my frail hands,
but my question was more than rhetorical.
(sometimes I think you like delicate things just because you can break them.)
iii. you were delicate in ways only I could see, with spider-web eyelashes and
piano-key fingers, rolling over my spine, creating melodies only we could hear.
your rose-petal lips screamed that you were stronger,
but inside harsh-coloured words I found your
trembling fears, bedside secrets.
(I wouldn’t have broken you, even if God himself had offered me the galaxies, like
sparkling rubies in his palm.)
v. kissing you was like inhaling heroin,
intoxicated whispers lulling me to a dreamless sleep.
and the lows are worth it for the highs, and the
tears are worth the smiles.
(we don’t quite fit society’s ideals, but I’ve always believed
two wrecked halves can make a whole.)
vii. you will forever be the boy that broke me,
and I will forever be the girl that wasn’t good enough,
that didn’t smile enough to deserve yours.
when I asked if you regretted me, you traced my lips with dry fingers.
“at least you’re pretty.”
(you always said things were prettiest when shattered.)
--
Literature
crashing.
'think of yourself as a breath of air,' he tells me. 'compared to the overall atmosphere, you are tiny. insignificant.'
'but someone out there is breathing you in,' he continues. 'they're living off of you. you are the oxygen in their lungs, running through their veins and keeping them alive.'
i think that i'd be the polluted kind of air. the kind nobody wants. the kind that ends up killing people.
but i keep these thoughts inside.
.
'if i fell, would you catch me?' i ask, your fingers cold in mine.
'the crash is never as bad as they make it sound,' he says cryptically.
i take this to mean no.
.
'what do i remind you of?' you ask.
i
Literature
opposite's day - collab.
i. today i ignored the dismal beating
in my chest [it held me closer than
you ever did] and chased after you
like a lopsided puppy,
watching your skylit legs sink into
shin-deep puddles with indefinable
bottoms. i looked as you left me
miles behind as i shouted
nonsensical wishes and
honeycombed thoughts to you.
[let's drop anchor and stop
this off-course ship with
a handful of windswept lies.]
ii. your eyes are like my mirror -
reflective, deflective, and unforgiving.
[the only way you'll speak to me
is without words.]
one of these days i will write
'ugly ugly ugly' on my forehead
so that on opposite's day,
those baby blu
Literature
if you can hear me from there
you are zipping up my jacket
and your hands look broken.
I'm the cold sweat on your forehead
and the copy of the copy
of the last girl who tried to save you.
the truth is, I don't want your bony,
bony fingers to ever change.
now I'm in a small book store
reading Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis and
I want to know why the clocks are ticking
and why the walls are breathing louder than the people.
I want to run faster than my heart can handle
on these wet seven a.m. streets.
can't I just collapse and live here until you find me?
we're soaking our hands in the liquids
in our cups in our mouths in our minds
because our drin
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but the damage is permanent enough to inform me that
there's no going back.
there's no going back.
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wow that is amazing. i love the imagery!!