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Literature Text
You are the lonely twig to my dead leaf,
cuddled around each other forever,
until one day raised by the drifting breeze,
to perhaps be torn apart and severed,
until we're collected as part of a sheaf,
by strangers with warm hands, still together,
placed into a casket of ash and death,
our love set alight by matches and breath.
You are the plectrum to my guitar string,
caressing me softly or striking hard,
and though sometimes I'm the sad songs you sing,
you know you'll always be playing my heart,
we've been in concerts and pockets with rings
and pearls but our love never grew dark,
our hearts may be strong but this love is cursed,
forever worried about who'll snap first.
You are shadow to my pale sunlight,
you come out to see me every last day,
you help to cool those who find me too bright,
I know how you bask in my longing gaze,
and though we may be apart in cold night,
we both dream of each others playful ways,
despite this sweet love, we're both just dreamers,
always it seems there's someone between us.
cuddled around each other forever,
until one day raised by the drifting breeze,
to perhaps be torn apart and severed,
until we're collected as part of a sheaf,
by strangers with warm hands, still together,
placed into a casket of ash and death,
our love set alight by matches and breath.
You are the plectrum to my guitar string,
caressing me softly or striking hard,
and though sometimes I'm the sad songs you sing,
you know you'll always be playing my heart,
we've been in concerts and pockets with rings
and pearls but our love never grew dark,
our hearts may be strong but this love is cursed,
forever worried about who'll snap first.
You are shadow to my pale sunlight,
you come out to see me every last day,
you help to cool those who find me too bright,
I know how you bask in my longing gaze,
and though we may be apart in cold night,
we both dream of each others playful ways,
despite this sweet love, we're both just dreamers,
always it seems there's someone between us.
Literature
Good Night
it started with “good night”
and the way you stopped saying it
and I told myself it was because
you were too tired
too weary
too worn
and I made it okay
then I stopped being your “good morning”
and everyone else saw you first
and I told myself it was because
you were too busy
too popular
too distracted
and I made it okay
now it ends with “good bye”
and it's not a cry for attention or a ploy for your love
you can tell yourself it's because
I'm too needy
too jealous
too much
but I gotta make it, okay?
Literature
A Moment
Place your hand over mine
Look me in the eye
Open my soul up and
Let it all unwind
Leave me dangling from a string
Wrapped around you, wrapped around my heart
Stretching, pulling,
Snapping
So what are you and I gonna do, my dear?
Literature
favor me
i am notorious for picking apart my wounds,
my carefully-concealed, ripped-open wounds.
our lips touch and our knees touch
and you sleep with your head resting against mine.
you tied our hearts together with gardening twine,
started cultivating a garden in the cracks in my exterior
and i am rubbing salt into them,
filling them with the sting of vodka,
dressing them with battery acid
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Sad love stories. Ottava rima, three stanzas.
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