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Literature Text
I never drank before but I knew
she was a shot of something powerful,
with long, prominent eye lashes poking holes
in the soles and openings of our skin.
We sat back like a pack of wolves and watched
as she dripped herself amongst
hard wood floors and inexpensive linen. I knew,
that maybe in another life
she had been a listlessly withered, worn and aged sycamore and perhaps I was the cocoon 'neath her leaf, waiting to uncover something beautiful
or something average.
Love is a strange drought,
her compassion showed me that I had never drank before and in this life I never would, but oh,
how I wanted to
she was a shot of something powerful,
with long, prominent eye lashes poking holes
in the soles and openings of our skin.
We sat back like a pack of wolves and watched
as she dripped herself amongst
hard wood floors and inexpensive linen. I knew,
that maybe in another life
she had been a listlessly withered, worn and aged sycamore and perhaps I was the cocoon 'neath her leaf, waiting to uncover something beautiful
or something average.
Love is a strange drought,
her compassion showed me that I had never drank before and in this life I never would, but oh,
how I wanted to
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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.
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