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Literature Text
That night, Mother let her hair up
so strands could spark and shiver against one another
in the too-blue night. And as I watched,
foggy waves pushing out into the sky from
sugarcane smokestacks collided, twirled and trilled
with tendrils of fast-decaying moonbeams, last exhalations.
so strands could spark and shiver against one another
in the too-blue night. And as I watched,
foggy waves pushing out into the sky from
sugarcane smokestacks collided, twirled and trilled
with tendrils of fast-decaying moonbeams, last exhalations.
Literature
A Poem About Nothing
And so, I lay down on the road, in the sun, and baked on the asphalt.
The man with the gas mask fetish scares me to death.
I want to die it black hair, straight and sleek, over the lack thereof eye.
The world, indeed, shall be overrun by oysters, but it won't matter because we'll all be dead things.
What if everyone else is me too?
Dear Hamlet, the answer is to not, or at least to pretend so as to get through the being itself.
Spoiler alert: you've nothing to worry about.
Because the above states the answer to all of my problems, I'll say
Literature
Just the two of Us.
Sitting here cuddling your shirt
wishing you were in it,
sitting here with me
your arms around my shoulders
comforting me, keeping me safe.
My lips long for yours,
for your soft kiss, your sweet caress,
your fingers through my hair,
your eyes discovering mine
every time you look my way.
I need you here, next to me
just curled up, talking,
hoping, dreaming,
doing all the things we do
Together, just us.
Just the two of us.
Always.
Literature
I am Nothing
If not a writer,
What could I possibly be?
My answer: nothing
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