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Literature Text
imagine trees of tangerines,
heavy sagging suns on all the branches.
rip one down, introduce it to
vivisection
(though dead or alive, it
never cries out),
and
squeeze
until pulp like entrails
forces itself between your dripping fingers.
stare blankly at the mess
and attempt to clean it,
succeed only in
staining your clothes golden.
work the designs against your skin
until the mistakes become tattoos
and the rinds before you look
less like refuse and more like
fresh-hatched eggshells.
as the morning scent stings your senses,
reach up.
don't look,
just touch, and
rip down another.
and another.
and another.
heavy sagging suns on all the branches.
rip one down, introduce it to
vivisection
(though dead or alive, it
never cries out),
and
squeeze
until pulp like entrails
forces itself between your dripping fingers.
stare blankly at the mess
and attempt to clean it,
succeed only in
staining your clothes golden.
work the designs against your skin
until the mistakes become tattoos
and the rinds before you look
less like refuse and more like
fresh-hatched eggshells.
as the morning scent stings your senses,
reach up.
don't look,
just touch, and
rip down another.
and another.
and another.
Literature
Life Is Pain
By natural law
Or chaos manifest
The good die young
It's common sense
Tyranny of majority
Author of the story
Of martyred hope
Death painful slow
Born of the dying
Innocence is multiplying
Just fast enough to stay
Only to quickly decay
The drowning man
Will always drag down
The helping hand
Just as it must help
Give and take
Take to give
Nothing's free
Not even to live
No good or evil
Just push and pull
Because one exists
The other must also
Be thankful who you are
Cog in the machine
Be thankful you work
Toward the greater nothing
For existence is suffering
Literature
Because Writing Keeps Me Human
Just because it is burning my mind, and it holds a grenade that blasts everything I have into remnants of his musky scent; because I feel like I'm gagging, except that I'm coughing poems and vomiting metaphors; because words can be a crumpled piece of paper drowned in tears, and every poem written can be blended into fiction; and because my limbs feel like they had been devoured by the lava in the words and the music notes I play sink deep between the piano keys, and apparently banging the keys does not help silencing the empty screams at night.
Literature
Stop putting words in my mouth
You shove your fingers
down my throat,
and insert words
I never spoke,
in desperate hopes
to make me choke
but beware:
my pearly gates
won't hesitate
to bite
the hand
that feeds me
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and by that I mean writing when you feel like you can't or don't want to and that is exactly what I was doing when I wrote this.
hot off the presses my friends c: I was actually okay with how this turned out. I think it's because it felt so forced that I was surprised it wasn't worse?
anyway.
hot off the presses my friends c: I was actually okay with how this turned out. I think it's because it felt so forced that I was surprised it wasn't worse?
anyway.
© 2016 - 2024 littleblueraccoon
Comments17
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god this imagery is perfect - rich and unsettling and divine.