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Literature Text
You act like there’s a storm
on the slick black street
that’ll swallow me whole-
but this is no storm for outrunning.
There’s a storm in the sick
black back of my brain
and it knows my real name,
it knows my address
and my breaking point,
the quickest and most exact
route to the hospital,
and I swear it rumbles,
"jump".
on the slick black street
that’ll swallow me whole-
but this is no storm for outrunning.
There’s a storm in the sick
black back of my brain
and it knows my real name,
it knows my address
and my breaking point,
the quickest and most exact
route to the hospital,
and I swear it rumbles,
"jump".
Literature
Untitled
Once upon a time
I reached for the stars
And tried to climb
The sun's golden bars
But those rays of light
Cut short my flight
I reached for the stars
And fell from the sky
My hopes now scars
I can't justify
To myself alone
I am she who has flown
I tried to climb
Like Icarus the son
Melted wax come noontime
With nothing won
No promises made
No trophies gained
The sun's golden bars
Whose sentinels maintained
The ghosts of Mars
Those who remain
Close to my heart
Forever apart
The rays of light
Have faded away
The moon now night
Where the world decays
And I'm still fading
The sun never staying
Cut short my flight
Left behind it all
I try to
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
Rombos
por Romy Lara
El aire gélido se coló en la habitación y alborotó los papeles minuciosamente acomodados en el escritorio. Tronándose los nudillos de la mano izquierda, Julio se incorporó y cerró la ventana de un golpe. Afuera el cielo se caía pedazo por pedazo. Reacomodó el desorden que se había hecho en su mesa de trabajo, colocando cada documento en su lugar: los de etiqueta amarilla en la carpeta amarilla, los marcados con verde en la papeleta verde y así consecutivamente con cuatro colores más.
Procedió a sacar un cuaderno de portadas negras de su
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11.4.14
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