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Literature Text
There's a coffee stain on my white dress
And dust in your room's emptiness,
Tattoo your name upon my skin
Wait for the day you walk back in.
Two whole years; they passed so slow
Had time to watch each season go
Summer, Winter, Autumn, Bed
I'd rather think of you instead
Throw vivid looks of hate and rage
At the blankness of my diary's page;
Carve your initials on a tree
Trace the lines that ink your name to me.
Blood red paint thrown at the walls
Deface what's mine but not what's yours-
Look at our photos, try to breathe
Don't make me cry again; please please please.
And dust in your room's emptiness,
Tattoo your name upon my skin
Wait for the day you walk back in.
Two whole years; they passed so slow
Had time to watch each season go
Summer, Winter, Autumn, Bed
I'd rather think of you instead
Throw vivid looks of hate and rage
At the blankness of my diary's page;
Carve your initials on a tree
Trace the lines that ink your name to me.
Blood red paint thrown at the walls
Deface what's mine but not what's yours-
Look at our photos, try to breathe
Don't make me cry again; please please please.
Literature
Starry Eyed
You make maps to ceiling constellations,
and I wanna lie here and trace every line,
until we're lost in the dark matter of your mind.
With arms cooly tucked beneath your head,
you navigate an escape from nothingness.
There is a brilliance spilling from your lips,
as your mouth rambles on and on.
You have long drifted alone with starry eyes,
but now you've found a passenger.
Literature
280
pen across paper
the rhythmic tapping of keyboard running
my being is letters
yet i cannot make words
Literature
Your Mind's Eye
Your Mind's Eye
Picture forever.
What does it look like?
Is it a horizon, stretched across the earth?
Is it a pool of deepest black?
Is it the sky on a clear night, pierced by stars?
Is it empty?
Is it nice?
Picture your last breath.
How does it feel?
Does it come out like a freight train, rushed and then gone?
Does it whisper like a moth, almost missed?
Does it slowly creep its way from your lungs, each inch hard-won?
Is it alone?
Is it welcome?
Picture your imagination.
What does it look like?
Splashes of color, bright and vibrant?
Silent symphonies of brown and gray?
Stifled dreams, never quite realized?
Is it cared for
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Comments24
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This is really good, the language you used is perfect and it creates vivid images which brilliantly highlight both the subject of the poem and the emotions felt in the piece. My favourite lines are:
"Blood red paint thrown at the walls
Deface what's mine but not what's yours"
My only criticism is that maybe you could have controlled the amount of syllables in some of the lines a little more as the flow occasionally falters, but that's a minor thing.
KH
"Blood red paint thrown at the walls
Deface what's mine but not what's yours"
My only criticism is that maybe you could have controlled the amount of syllables in some of the lines a little more as the flow occasionally falters, but that's a minor thing.
KH