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Literature Text
I am in love with you
in the way that children
are in love:
incompletely, sporadically,
self-consciously.
you appear to me
as every adult appears
to a child:
faultless, omniscient,
unendingly generous and honest
and kind.
and, as must happen
to every child,
I will lose my god:
the slightest human error
will cause you to
fall
in the way that children
are in love:
incompletely, sporadically,
self-consciously.
you appear to me
as every adult appears
to a child:
faultless, omniscient,
unendingly generous and honest
and kind.
and, as must happen
to every child,
I will lose my god:
the slightest human error
will cause you to
fall
Literature
Anorexia
Meet a girl named No One, with a heart of shattered stone
Staring at the other girl, the one that's not alone
Girl with skin that glistens, with the eyes of crystal seas
Grin of shining diamonds and a laugh like a disease
Flashes just a glance and soon, she's every trouble's cure
She has everything… and No One's off to be like her.
Eating turns into a crime, she'd rather be away
Thrusting fingers down her throat to make herself okay
Watching as her very bones are seen behind her flesh
There she drowns in tears, for she has not yet seen success.
Minutes turn to hours, and these hours turn to days
Every moment slipping, slowly fading
Literature
we are not a fairytale
we are not a fairytale.
I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way
(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not
the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding
we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo
Literature
denial and uglier aftermath
i drink to you, raising my glass and
choking down the things you left,
ignoring my gag reflex and waiting
on the buzzing in my head, white cotton
lullabies for the weak of heart.
it kills me that we are just a
collection of vignettes, that soon
i might see your blossom fingers
and bleeding sunset smile but
only as a memory gone static with neglect;
this summer, i became a rebel. a
martyr in a child’s game, a vagrant
with boxes of dead poetry to call
a home, and when i asked you to want me,
it’s only so you’d take the sanity and consciousness
with you when you left. i miss
the days when personality disorders
were not gra
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how extremely lazy of me
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