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Literature Text
"you fell first
and i followed,
tumbled like bricks
in the wake of your
admiration,"
is the story i told,
and you agreed,
not remembering
the night i've tried
to dissolve: when i
lay on your bed,
dampened sheets,
counted perfections,
cut my sleeve,
and realized—
admiration
was my muriatic acid
when you hardly
knew my foundation:
i collapsed like bricks
already unstable.
and i followed,
tumbled like bricks
in the wake of your
admiration,"
is the story i told,
and you agreed,
not remembering
the night i've tried
to dissolve: when i
lay on your bed,
dampened sheets,
counted perfections,
cut my sleeve,
and realized—
admiration
was my muriatic acid
when you hardly
knew my foundation:
i collapsed like bricks
already unstable.
Literature
drinkdrinkdrunk
anabolic alcoholic, summer
had dreams
of watching you soar through
hammock seams and i had
almost found your reluctance
sweet
but then liquor dripped
dropped
and ran rather deep -
mounds of molehills
you drained with coke
and found
merciless
vodka leaked jaws and i
told you the dreams;
the heights summer had
but you
liked disappoint-
-ment etched in your
left cleft joints
so swallowing, wallowing
in catabolic ache
liquid froze at the
nape of your
neck and this white-red-pink wine
you love somehow
stole summer's dreams
and winds and thaw.
Literature
remuneration
there were dreams of abasement, tearing up at the thought of
the noxious corners of your eyes. i saw them at a glance and fell
headfirst in the Styx, catching billowing waves of uncertainty and
heartache. they crashed with a decade-begrudged mind that was far
from healing -- far from me.
and though the fall was abrasive and the
waves, their own harangue, their heartache
and toxins faded & found graphite talismans
engraved in a red wrist warmer.
the ground that my blood decorated, with a history of broken bone
marrows now showed how unnecessary a transplant w
Literature
first.
the fairytales and lovesongs
are lies.
because i do not want
to fall in love with you
like i am falling in love
for the first time.
i want your hand
to fit with mine
like they were
moulded
for each other
at the dawn
of time,
like we've been making
footprints side-by-side
through the darkness
together
long before we learned
to shine,
like we were born
from the same
oceans
and i have been looking
to fall in love
with exactly you
every day
since i coughed the seawater
from my lungs
and began
to breathe.
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some old writing, salvaged a bit
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Comments12
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the title is rather confusing, though.
is this a coming of age poem?
is this a coming of age poem?