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Literature Text
In my minds eye you are lying on your bed
with golden shafts of light tracing your shoulder, jaw, lips
and tiny specks of dust floating down just to touch you
You are beautiful, You are beautiful
You have skin the light begs to touch.
In the park by the water, let these lips
leave tender kisses in a trail along your neck,
a quivering testament to my breathless adoration.
Let skin explore skin in the hushed dark,
delicate hands desperate to touch,
grasping fingers wound up in hair,
bringing closer and closer with
the overwhelming scent of desire.
You pull away with solemn eyes
and I kiss your scars and say that
you are beautiful, you are beautiful,
you have skin I beg to touch.
with golden shafts of light tracing your shoulder, jaw, lips
and tiny specks of dust floating down just to touch you
You are beautiful, You are beautiful
You have skin the light begs to touch.
In the park by the water, let these lips
leave tender kisses in a trail along your neck,
a quivering testament to my breathless adoration.
Let skin explore skin in the hushed dark,
delicate hands desperate to touch,
grasping fingers wound up in hair,
bringing closer and closer with
the overwhelming scent of desire.
You pull away with solemn eyes
and I kiss your scars and say that
you are beautiful, you are beautiful,
you have skin I beg to touch.
Literature
Hello, My Name Is...
Hello, my name is Blade
You've come to me before
Tears streaming down your face
As you run outside, slamming the door
My cool metal touches your flesh
And pierces your skin so deep
My touch is the only thing at night
That helps you fall asleep
You long to not be addicted
To the comforting pain I provide
You long not hide the scars
And when someone sees always have ready a lie
Hello my name is Grief
I am why you know Blade
You don't know how to deal with everything
And deep down you're so afraid
Of this pain never ending
Of your heart never finding rest
But but down the knife, sweetie
It really is for the best
Hello my name is Comfort
I c
Literature
The Good Time
I just want to have a good time. Christmas. NASCAR. Weddings. Birthdays. Funerals. Sometimes not even that justified. Sometimes just weekends-or a day of the week, like Thursday, because of its alliteration-like compatibility with a beverage-related adjective, like thirsty. Malted or fermented or brewed it all comes sloshing in by the pint-full, shot-full, keg-full, or what have you. It fills mouths and stomachs-at least until its triumphant return-as well as fills families and lives. It robs one of fear (or, arguably, feeling in its entirety) and guards one from responsibility. Praised as the dance-enhancer, the lay-obtainer, the
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.
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Comments2
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I love the first stanza!