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Literature Text
At night
we dream of faraway stars
but warm up
at the light of candles
we dream of faraway stars
but warm up
at the light of candles
Literature
Tired.
I, am tired.
Tired of feeling.
Tired of all the hard work of healing.
Tired of failing.
Tired of falling.
Tired.
I am tired of things,
People, and notions.
Tired of people,
And tired of their motions.
Tired of their talk
Tired of their commotion.
Tired of everything
Inside and out
Tired of hating
Too tired to pout
I just wish,
Wish I could live,
Live underwater
Some place to forgive
Some place to wish
And wish I shall do
Wish to not be tired
Oh, please wish,
Come true.
Literature
Your Poetry Sucks.
Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones.
You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.
Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,
and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.
Your veins bleed nothing but red.
And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.
So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag-worthy cliches-
and eat them.
Literature
Gravity
Gravity,
Autumn wanted to learn
how to
fall.
So, the galaxy of dead trees
coiling in your lungs
devoured her spine.
Your gifts,
a lifeline wrapped around
her neck like a noose;
an orange and red
assisted suicide.
& you said "God bless your
heart." like some divine
higher power could forgive
her for loving you.
-dp
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Comments2
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Wow. Fantastic writing.