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Literature Text
She wears not her heart on her sleeve
but rather flaunts mine.
It's something about her,
perfect enough,
more than too much,
enough to tempt time itself;
and I fear
that I'm simply
not enough.
but rather flaunts mine.
It's something about her,
perfect enough,
more than too much,
enough to tempt time itself;
and I fear
that I'm simply
not enough.
Literature
Dying to meet you
I courted Death
in a burnt out pub
with faulty lights and dirt-cheap drinks;
She had tarred fingers
which danced hypnotically
around her hazy smeared glass.
Word round town was that she had the
Kiss of death
and a tongue as sharp as a scythe,
it was a challenge I couldn’t resist.
I seduced Death
bought her a drink or two
and with rum burning my heart
I stroked her arm,
(coffin cold)
and licked my lips like a predator
(a lamb in wolf’s clothing)
and when she grinned back,
I realised which of us was really prey.
I danced with Death
in a dark alley,
in an abandoned warehouse,
a trashed motel room;
it was fast and heady and yet -
t
Literature
I Just Want to Understand.
You know the shreds of my story.
Lately, I've even given you the glue
So that you can piece it all together,
And just understand me.
So why won't you let me in?
You gave me a sheet of paper,
And bare snippets of the rest.
I tried offering my own glue,
But you just threw it away.
I just want to understand.
I don't want you to hurt,
I just want to know how it feels.
I want to be empathetic,
And maybe even learn sympathy.
I just need you to speak to me.
Tell me what hurts, and let's dissect it
And understand why it's killing you.
Just let me in so that I, too, can see -
And together we can beat it down.
Literature
dear you:
i don't love you.
or - maybe i do.
i don't know anymore.
i've heard it said that love and hate are so close together,
you can't tell them apart.
and i read once - we both did -
that in the moment of killing someone besides yourself with hatred in your bones,
you love them.
so you must have loved me,
then.
i did.
and so you tore and tore
and my heart healed after years around a wound shaped like
the teeth that cut it open. i will bear this
mark of you until i am
old and gray;
i will pass down the stories of how to know
who and who not to lay trust into;
i will teach the children of my children how to tell a broken heart from one
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