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Literature Text
I'm wandering through this house
Because it doesn't feel like home
Staying up too late
Because I want to be alone
Sitting in the dark
Because it doesn't hurt my eyes
Listening to the silence
'Cause at least it never lies.
Because it doesn't feel like home
Staying up too late
Because I want to be alone
Sitting in the dark
Because it doesn't hurt my eyes
Listening to the silence
'Cause at least it never lies.
Literature
love letters, unsigned unsent
you are bright in the contrast,
heightened to a screaming blue
clashing on ethereal
new-made old soul, complex heart
pounding in elastic quantum-- here and there, both
but never change your skin,
never cast your eyes down dark avenues
of doubt or insignificance;
you are the magic one, beautifully so
swished and purple-streaked, dancing an imaginarium
into formerly unpurposed space
I know the world won't tiptoe lightly
so as not to obstruct your path
or grin at every grand and simple gesture,
every affirmation of your singular phoenix
but I would
Literature
linger
and scratched into the margin
with cheap black ink—
“hallucinating”
was all i could read over his shoulder
and i thought maybe he was high but
when he smiled at me i knew
he wasn’t
Literature
blue ink
and perhaps she only
writes in
blue ink
because her
eyes are sad
and
confused, or her
heart is sick of the
games he plays, or
maybe her words
rained beautifully from the
sky, and that’s what
filled her oceans
with poetry
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Oi vey.
© 2017 - 2024 Emily-Byrd
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I wish I didn't relate to this so much and yet here we are...