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Literature
7:56
this isn't love.
this isn't waking up in his arms and feeling perfect and safe and knowing nothing can go wrong. it's not when he kisses your fingers and pulls you closer and makes you feel special. it's not watermelon gum or vanilla perfume or sour patch kids or walking on train tracks. it's not going so high on swings that you can almost touch the sky.
it's falling.
it's falling so fucking hard that when you hit the ground you forget that it hurts. it's when you wake up and the room is still spinning and your heart is racing too fast. it's when you don't know the difference between this and real life and you're so fucked up you don't car
Literature
?
i infiltrated three worlds, discarded them all, ate the signs, swallowed the planets surrounding.
i infiltrated my own mind, took out the things i liked and handed them out to children on the street, maybe they won't grow up.
i wrote you letters,
so many fucking letters,
without grammar, without spelling.
minus formalities,
minus proper format,
minus words,
minus writing,
minus me,
minus you.
i wrote you letters,
but really they were the piano notes
wronged that spat themselves out through my mouth.
i wrote worlds of letters,
infiltrated them
and decided i wouldn't say hello to anyone for a week or so.
Literature
circumspect.
i want to try you on for size
like a portrait you
buy to see if it matches
the mahogany of the wall.
i want to pull you over my head
and see if i like the way you look
on me.
i want to excavate a hole
into my chest
and see if you fit the way
i'd like you to.
i want to curl my rib cage
inwards and try to keep
the butterflies there;
but the weird thing about
butterflies
is that as soon as you
try to hold them in
they die.
i want to try you on for size,
hold you close and try
to love you,
but i don't know if i can-
and love has
a real messed up
return policy.
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i called you beautiful
but baby,
i lied.
[I'm so ugly.]
but baby,
i lied.
[I'm so ugly.]
© 2010 - 2024 From-Dawn-To-Dusk
Comments9
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i love this.