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Literature Text
We can never go home.
I am banished to this nomadic lifestyle,
Stuck in a thousand places at once.
Help cannot reach me here, though
For all the times I gave myself away to be
Used, you would think
Love might still come to my rescue.
There's an aching in my bones,
Heat licking at me like the fire
I constantly flee.
Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
Kindness is not a virtue.
I will forever hold you
Near if I ever make it back to you,
Greet you with the smile I kept for you.
I am banished to this nomadic lifestyle,
Stuck in a thousand places at once.
Help cannot reach me here, though
For all the times I gave myself away to be
Used, you would think
Love might still come to my rescue.
There's an aching in my bones,
Heat licking at me like the fire
I constantly flee.
Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
Kindness is not a virtue.
I will forever hold you
Near if I ever make it back to you,
Greet you with the smile I kept for you.
Literature
Hollow
Here amidst the bones bleached white,
the echoes become trapped in ribcages
like a heartbeat.
But it’s just a sound.
No blood pumps through the
marrow thick like
baby’s breath-
flowers for someone who is sick or dying or
dead.
No light shines
under the skin and muscle.
How dark it must be for the
delicate, fleshy bits underneath.
The lungs don’t know when it’s time to
go. No moon to guide them.
How do they know when to
stop?
Does the heart even know the color
of blood?
Literature
Entertaining Ghosts
So little when she first encountered Poe
and learned to stuff herself with shrieking woe.
A timid child, she courted terror’s thrill;
she'd read by day, then suffer frightened chill
as nightmares clawed her down into the deep.
She’d cry out in the dark, though half asleep,
but with the dawn she’d close a haunted door,
then turn the page she’d marked to suffer more.
Eventually, I wished my childhood years
had left me less in fear of certain mirrors
that call up ghosts of those who’ve gone before.
They haunt us with the voices that implore
us hold our gaze and meet the captive wraith
who so desires to swell unwil
Literature
The man in the black suit.
The man in the black suit is sad and lonely. I understand how he feels. He understands how I feel. He keeps his head bowed and his long hair hides his face, but not completely. I can see he smiles at me. Those that know me say that he is wrong for me, but I don't listen to them. Together we are as happy as two sad people can be. The man in the black suit and I move in together. We make love. It is the first time for him and the first time for me, or so he leads me to believe. Afterwards he gets up and says that we are finished. I ask him: "Why? We are in love. We are happy together?" He says he just wanted to have me, and now he
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Another acrostic, with the line 'nostalgia isn't what it used to be' from my poem nostalgia. Didn't really portray the wishful thinkingness that well, but whatever. Any ideas on how to fix up the last line? I find it very weak.
Day 10. Falling behind. Expect #11 later
Day 10. Falling behind. Expect #11 later
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Comments7
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pretty awesome acrostic you have here, dear heart.