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Literature Text
The worst people make the most memories
in my brain, in my soul,
and years later I can still
pick them out
in a crowd of a thousand faces,
a million memories,
one similarity.
My writing isn't good
but I try to capture emotion,
the way you used to look at me
and the trembling of my heart,
the touch and kiss(es) of lust
and the broken hearts of dust,
and even when you're just a mistake
that lingers in my brain,
you're still here,
a broken mirror.
I watch and watch
and vow to never be like them,
but the truth isn't gonna save me anymore,
so I'm turning you into a lie.
You never happened,
we never happened,
the summer never stammered,
the thoughts stopped,
you are nothing,
you are blocked.
in my brain, in my soul,
and years later I can still
pick them out
in a crowd of a thousand faces,
a million memories,
one similarity.
My writing isn't good
but I try to capture emotion,
the way you used to look at me
and the trembling of my heart,
the touch and kiss(es) of lust
and the broken hearts of dust,
and even when you're just a mistake
that lingers in my brain,
you're still here,
a broken mirror.
I watch and watch
and vow to never be like them,
but the truth isn't gonna save me anymore,
so I'm turning you into a lie.
You never happened,
we never happened,
the summer never stammered,
the thoughts stopped,
you are nothing,
you are blocked.
Literature
first kiss
I will be
the rolling waves,
and you can be
the sandy shore
I'll kiss with salty lips,
and then keep
coming back for more
Literature
i would do anything to get you to love yourself
i know your type, i’ve seen them around here
before, browsing through my poems like
you’re flipping through vinyl records, trying to find
that one disc you were listening to the first time
he leaned over and kissed you.
the only way you’ll ever be able to love yourself
is if he leans over and kisses you again, is if someone
tells you about the seven wonders of your soul, if
someone sits down and writes a list of all your beautiful
fault lines that you’ve never been able to forgive.
you want to love yourself and you want to be loved,
but i know it’s hard to believe that you’re holy,
when your hands still s
Literature
I have my own angel
I have my own angel
Who is a part of me and apart from me
I have my own angel
Who follows me, falls in step with me
I have my own angel
Black, opaque, not at all fake
A marionette
My sillouette
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I'm sorry but my writing isn't normal, and it hasn't been for a long time.
I try to write organized and nicely like other people, but the only way I can do this is if I just tell my story, very vaguely and symbolically, and submit.
Therefore, most of my writing is like speech. If you read it outloud, it has a different beat. I always write like I am telling it.
I try to write organized and nicely like other people, but the only way I can do this is if I just tell my story, very vaguely and symbolically, and submit.
Therefore, most of my writing is like speech. If you read it outloud, it has a different beat. I always write like I am telling it.
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Comments8
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Man, I feel this so heavy tonight.
The worst people make the most memories
in my brain, in my soul,
and years later I can still
pick them out
in a crowd of a thousand faces,
a million memories,
one similarity.
That made me weep.
The worst people make the most memories
in my brain, in my soul,
and years later I can still
pick them out
in a crowd of a thousand faces,
a million memories,
one similarity.
That made me weep.