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Literature Text
We called our love art,
Once,
When all we did was
Trace poetry into the skins
Of each other
Trading secrets deep into the night
Till the sunlight kissed us asleep
And we fell,
Rapt,
In the arms of the other.
Those days are long gone.
I recall the wild symmetry of
Your eyes meeting mine:
Creative friction that resulted in
Too much wine
And pain
And fights
And I remembered writing
Once,
That love was drama
Only our ending wasn’t.
It died the way most things do:
Alone.
Once,
When all we did was
Trace poetry into the skins
Of each other
Trading secrets deep into the night
Till the sunlight kissed us asleep
And we fell,
Rapt,
In the arms of the other.
Those days are long gone.
I recall the wild symmetry of
Your eyes meeting mine:
Creative friction that resulted in
Too much wine
And pain
And fights
And I remembered writing
Once,
That love was drama
Only our ending wasn’t.
It died the way most things do:
Alone.
Literature
Lies
Do you lie in your sleep?
When you exhale, do the lies just tumble out?
Does a lie always inhabit the tip of your tongue?
Ready to run free at a moment’s notice?
Because it seems all I hear from you lately
Are lies
Lie after lie
Do you even know you’re telling them?
Or do you mean what you say in the moment and later contemplate on your words and decide otherwise?
Do you care that you hurt me?
With every word cutting deeper into the tough skin I thought I had formed
But then you come with your charm and your knife
And you cut
And cut
I don’t even notice the bleeding, lost in your eyes
Until you’re gone
Then I notice
Literature
Rhapsodic
I’ve lost my superpower –
of wordplay
It’s abandoned me and left me choking on vacant letters,
Stealing my brand of “wordsmith”
And
Labeling me simply as a lack-luster charlatan.
I’m vomiting synonyms
And
I’m tripping on definitions
In ways that I never have stumbled before.
This chasm –
This deep, empty, aching grave in my soul
Is screaming and pleading and gasping and trembling
To reconstitute this dried up talent
In the light of my ever-present denial of tragedy.
Once a zealot,
Always an addict;
You see, I yearn
to do nothing more than to load a syringe with ripe syllables,
Literature
an ocean only grows
a girl may shed tears
for those parted by the sea;
accumulation.
a lady can sob
in veins of wine, sweeten and
settle his sorrow.
a woman will weep
when a home leaks, leaks of a
future ne'er to be.
.
© 2014 - 2024 rebel-brat
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