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Literature Text
i've marked every cigarette with red paint
so that i can find my way to you
when i come home to broken lights and tossed sheets.
i can tell that you haven't slept well in months
and i can smell spilled coffee and vodka on the dining room table.
the walls are decorated in crimson graffiti,
flagging me down and trailing me to your bedroom.
the door is locked, i can tell without touching the nob.
cold air breathes heavily from the crack of the door
tickling the cells of my ankles.
you loved me like you loved nose bleeds at 3am,
and i wish that you were here like the
vibrant red tint that softly brushes
and hugs the cells of your hands
but the cigarette packet is empty.
your face is hot
your palms are frozen, your fingers are numb
and neither of us will damage ourselves with addiction
ever again
so that i can find my way to you
when i come home to broken lights and tossed sheets.
i can tell that you haven't slept well in months
and i can smell spilled coffee and vodka on the dining room table.
the walls are decorated in crimson graffiti,
flagging me down and trailing me to your bedroom.
the door is locked, i can tell without touching the nob.
cold air breathes heavily from the crack of the door
tickling the cells of my ankles.
you loved me like you loved nose bleeds at 3am,
and i wish that you were here like the
vibrant red tint that softly brushes
and hugs the cells of your hands
but the cigarette packet is empty.
your face is hot
your palms are frozen, your fingers are numb
and neither of us will damage ourselves with addiction
ever again
Literature
L over
Time passes and I still end up saying your name, when I told myself I wouldn’t let it slip out of my lips.
Memories are still clear as ever, painfully so, although they’re starting to merge into one colossal dream that managed to become a nightmare in a matter of seconds.
I wonder if you wonder, the way I wonder.
I wonder if this is just a writers mind.
Lost, confused, scared, hurt, sad, lament, pain, excuses, replaying, broken, worthless.
–– These are just some of the words that come to mind, when I think of our final chapter. They taste rancid in my mouth, and I spit them out on days I remember our story.
Your f
Literature
Storm Ravaged Hope
Petals are a scatter
Across rain torn grass,
Vines caressing leaves
Fallen from bare trees
To the right, the garden
Holds a scene of crush -
Remains of rose petals
Create a scene of red
Shimmering beneath
Lightning strikes
One blood red petal fallen
For every death occurred
In this unknown village
But there in the midst
Lies a rose of black,
Drenched in sorrow
From its very tip
To the loose roots
Remained in the soil
A few darkened petals
To remember our losses,
But a living death
Meant for true hope
Literature
he saved me
, but he killed me.
_
i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest.
it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes
you walked out, your five year old eyes greener than
sunlit saplings
you reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me.
"what's your name?"
daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.
I looked at the rose in my hand.
"Rose."
you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.
i didn't understand
but I knew.
ii. i forgot about you for
1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,
you shouted
my name, but i didn't recognize you
until i saw your
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Comments2
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there is a strange, haunting, almost-too-realistic beauty to this piece. Very well done