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Literature Text
I do not matter,
I see you there in your gold,
Dripping glory.
But I live in the shadows
And this is why you can’t win.
You walk in the sun
Never will you understand
Why you scream and fail.
I am the ghost in the night,
And the fading of the light.
You cannot kill that which is dead
and I have been dead for so very long
I see you there in your gold,
Dripping glory.
But I live in the shadows
And this is why you can’t win.
You walk in the sun
Never will you understand
Why you scream and fail.
I am the ghost in the night,
And the fading of the light.
You cannot kill that which is dead
and I have been dead for so very long
Literature
Fruitbat
A portrait is a flat mechanism.
In suit and tie or dress, some stooped
at the base of couches dragged into frame
and then left there, staring forward.
It does not matter who, the people in portraits belong
to the immaculate house of the past
where no one has ever lived
and the furniture is simple wood
propped up by a dowel or a sheaf of papers,
solid oak wrapped tight with gossamer thin cloth.
Even this is untrue, for the ones who know
about gossamer are now dead, stock set
in memories born still
for the things hinted in them had not happened.
The brown tinged wood was not illuminated
by a light cast outside the photograph,
swaying in a foye
Literature
I love you doesn't have to be said
You like to think
that you're not emotional, but
yeah right, I've seen you all
worn down before, you didn't cry
but you might as well have,
I see your drunk I love you texts
and the way you try to go around
words to make me feel better
and the time you take to stay
by our side and it makes me realize
that you're just putting up a front,
that really you will miss
walking side by side with us
even though you don't want
to admit it
I love you too
I used to like to think that I
like being alone, that I could live
my life all by myself because
people are frustrating, careless,
they will abandon you
with the slightest nudge when
they are th
Literature
Howl
Tonight is a full moon
and in a car with closed windows, this could be any shit-kicking town
the man next to me is any other lumberjack
the girl in my seat is another small town misfit chasing an escape
we are riding West
toward stars
and nothing
but distance
and oblivion
my Howl chokes inside
the urge to strip naked and run
through trees, past neighborhoods, over bridges, and down streets
to the ocean
to return
to be baptized again
and again and again
until the salt and piss and whale semen eat away at this,
armor of jaded cynicism
to lie in the freezing midnight shallows
naked as we come
until my skin is raw and flushed
until my wits a
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