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Literature Text
He never liked the taste of medicine.
He would always get sick,
but would never take anything for it.
No Tylenol, no Advil, not even a few cough drops.
He would just suffer silently through it.
His sweetheart would always hound him about it,
saying that someday it'll be the death of him.
He never paid attention to her,
always ending the little spiels with a kiss to her temple.
Then she would drive home,
as always.
She spent the afternoon at his place one winter,
nursing him in his fever,
as he still refused any and all medicines or drugs.
She gave him her lecture, as usual.
And she drove home,
but never made it.
He remembered getting the news,
falling to his knees
with tears slowly soaking into his shirt,
cracks slowly forming in his heart.
Yet to this day, years later,
he still refuses to forget her.
But, only now, by his bed,
there's always a bottle of cough drops.
He would always get sick,
but would never take anything for it.
No Tylenol, no Advil, not even a few cough drops.
He would just suffer silently through it.
His sweetheart would always hound him about it,
saying that someday it'll be the death of him.
He never paid attention to her,
always ending the little spiels with a kiss to her temple.
Then she would drive home,
as always.
She spent the afternoon at his place one winter,
nursing him in his fever,
as he still refused any and all medicines or drugs.
She gave him her lecture, as usual.
And she drove home,
but never made it.
He remembered getting the news,
falling to his knees
with tears slowly soaking into his shirt,
cracks slowly forming in his heart.
Yet to this day, years later,
he still refuses to forget her.
But, only now, by his bed,
there's always a bottle of cough drops.
Literature
As Death Approached
As death approached, the girl just smiled.
"You've kept me waiting for quite a while."
He wonders "Shouldn't death you fear?"
"I've always thought that death was near."
The girl turned away to sink what she said.
"I have always felt I was already dead.
I float through this world without a care.
It's almost like I'm not really there.
So, no I'm not afraid of no longer being.
You can see that I'm already nothing."
Death just nodded. What she said was true.
"Regardless it is time for me to take you."
The girl stood up, all ready to go.
An afterlife she thought, wasn't likely to show.
Death did his duty, and took her away.
The girl finally had h
Literature
Composed Upon an Abandoned Sofa
We refuse to wake; trapped in pharma-sleep.
This place is as worn as the clothes we wear -
Look at the beauty of it all laid bare.
Our flesh and limbs lay still, knotted in heaps
Of spit and blood. Our narco-coma lies -
We have nothing but red eyes, skin ice-fair,
Our thoughts are stifled by the blackened air.
We are helpless - scarred at the mouth and eyes.
Here we crash, together. In smog we steep
Our secret, buried away from the sky
Amongst the ash, the phlegm and comrade flies
We'll sleep 'til one of us, from the gloom, cries
That these beautiful things, their scent and glare,
Are too scarce to sate our thirst for the deep.
Literature
sleepy.
snow white:
fruit of my eye,
freezing blood in my veins.
poisoned, tachycardic; i fear
the end.
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Aww :c