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Literature Text
There's so much spite
So much anger in there
The words, biting
Corrosive, but full of fractured
The emotion, pain, suffering
For whom and why?
You speak to cover
Never to explain.
But the words are the story
And it weaves itself
In spite of the spite
The truth is slow
But the truth is real
No spite is without truth
It will grow, slowly
And I will caress a blossom
In time.
So much anger in there
The words, biting
Corrosive, but full of fractured
The emotion, pain, suffering
For whom and why?
You speak to cover
Never to explain.
But the words are the story
And it weaves itself
In spite of the spite
The truth is slow
But the truth is real
No spite is without truth
It will grow, slowly
And I will caress a blossom
In time.
Literature
The Frozen Burn of a Broken Heart
Out of childish fears
And knowing you'd disappear
I knew not to touch or feel
For every time I do
I retreat pale and blue
From the icy burns within my heart
After being stabbed and ripped apart
Trying not to feel a thing
And knowing I'd be broken again
But I still try to hope
Tying crimson ribbons into rope
But the rope's become a noose
And there's no way to make it loose
Maybe I should give my wings a try
Find a building and try to fly
After all I'm not that great
I just found you much too late
Now it's only me and my shattered mind
Left to sit and replay memories on rewind
Looking for the tiniest thread to grasp
Forever
Literature
What would a person see if the
What would a person see if they read the mind- looked into the soul within?
They would view
the driving force behind the damned mind inside.
A mind without light, hope, or even illusions of happiness
a mind driven simply by anger and a mighty stubborness-
the soul trapped in a paroxysm of pain and misery,
driven to fight, hopelessly, against the ceaselessly bleeding hole within
and without
The soul and the mind are in unison- and hate each other for that
for both have abandoned hope. Doomed to die alone, die cold, empty, forgotten,
maybe hungry- definately dead inside before the final chime
fleetingly remembering the moment- in agonising
Literature
Forging Foundations
there is part of me that knows these walls
in the same ways I know
unrequited was the dream I used to tie my strings to,
unrequited was the hope I used to fill myself up,
unrequited is just a word I used to be friends with
because you've crooked your fingers
into the hooks of my jeans
and you've hooked my heart,
dangling, a stranger to safety
learning how to let someone lead--
there is a piece of me that fears these feelings
like I fear insects that sting, like I fear wildfires that rage,
like I fear porcelain dolls
with cracked faces and scarred chests
because so far in this life,
all the beautiful things I've ever held
have come to me brok
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