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Literature Text
she is a snowflake-skinned sigh
floating on the winds of Eurus,
playing tic-tac-toe on her skin.
she always comes out the loser
standing on the road between
two worlds, she wonders when
she started to read the map wrong,
because this isn’t the
second star from the right.
she can burn the pictures,
but she can’t burn her memories.
and damn it,
her wanderlust is trying to
pull her up, up, and away
but the desolation is keeping
its slimy tentacle wrapped
around her ankle and
it
won’t
let
go.
floating on the winds of Eurus,
playing tic-tac-toe on her skin.
she always comes out the loser
standing on the road between
two worlds, she wonders when
she started to read the map wrong,
because this isn’t the
second star from the right.
she can burn the pictures,
but she can’t burn her memories.
and damn it,
her wanderlust is trying to
pull her up, up, and away
but the desolation is keeping
its slimy tentacle wrapped
around her ankle and
it
won’t
let
go.
Literature
Broken
I lay down my heart,
I begin to pray,
Wherein does,
My heartstring lay.
The reds now grey,
On this unholy day,
Your hands are stained,
My heart is framed.
Encased in glass,
Lost all that lasts
Buried below,
Where dead men groan.
A deep dark home,
Of skin and bone,
A deep dark hole,
For a broken soul.
Mend the heart,
If you dare try,
But tear it apart,
Then be prepared to die.
Broken,
Crushed,
Beaten,
Shattered.
In the end,
It doesn't matter.
Literature
She Dances With Fire
She dances with fire, a dragon in tow.
Twirling with flames; graceful and slow
She dances tonight, in a city of ash.
Her feet leaving footprints, where the sand will splash.
Quietly mourning, as time goes by;
Where once she beheld a home in her eyes...
Yet naught but the barest of bones remain,
And so she dances, to soothe the pain.
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
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For `FuzzyHoser's Keep It Colloquial Contest.
I finished writing the poem by the deadline, but didn't get home to post it before our internet went out. I asked `FuzzyHoser before-hand if I could submit it today and she said it was fine.
I hope this qualifies, since I didn't technically say where it is. But the "snowflake-skinned sigh" is a reference to Alaska, where I grew up, and the "burn her memories" part is a reference to Idaho, where I live now.
EDIT 11/02/13: Changed "plays" to "playing" and took off the last two lines for impact.
I finished writing the poem by the deadline, but didn't get home to post it before our internet went out. I asked `FuzzyHoser before-hand if I could submit it today and she said it was fine.
I hope this qualifies, since I didn't technically say where it is. But the "snowflake-skinned sigh" is a reference to Alaska, where I grew up, and the "burn her memories" part is a reference to Idaho, where I live now.
EDIT 11/02/13: Changed "plays" to "playing" and took off the last two lines for impact.
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Comments37
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I absolutely adore "snowflake-skinned sigh."