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Literature Text
This fear that I feel, I don’t think you understand,
It’s not from the corners of the house that I have,
It’s not a demon whispering my name,
nor the voices that continue my endless pain.
It’s from my being, body or soul.
A twist in my stomach or a pain in my toe,
A thought from my mind that only I can hear,
Can ever so easily bring me to tears.
The breath in my lungs come quick and shallow,
For only I can know that inside I’m hollow.
Leave me be, it’s for the best,
Because even now my mind is a test.
It’s not from the corners of the house that I have,
It’s not a demon whispering my name,
nor the voices that continue my endless pain.
It’s from my being, body or soul.
A twist in my stomach or a pain in my toe,
A thought from my mind that only I can hear,
Can ever so easily bring me to tears.
The breath in my lungs come quick and shallow,
For only I can know that inside I’m hollow.
Leave me be, it’s for the best,
Because even now my mind is a test.
Literature
Fallen
When I was little, I held my hands up
and there was always a bigger pair
there to pick me up, raise me up
Dark and cold both accumulate near the ground
but I had found
a path to heaven, now forgotten
as the earth turns 'round;
So overcome by confusion, how...?
I can't cast my demons out
one devil still pulls me down
off the earth and off my gentle cloud
I lay upon the ground,
bloodied, broken, beaten down
and lament my fate, silenced now
He recalls his immoralities as if
they were someone else's little slips
and though his words have scarred me
much deeper than any knife or whip
he parades through town, a man, a god
going on about life as
Literature
Suis-moi
suis-moi en bas
en bas
en bas
permettre aux chaînes de rentrer dans ta peau
suis-moi dans l'obscurité
l'obscurité
l'obscurité
donne-moi ta main
suis-moi à travers les plantes grimpantes
les plantes grimpantes
les plantes grimpantes
les plantes grimpantes sont le sumac grimpant
boire mon poison,
mourir avec moi
suis-moi
suis-moi
suis-moi en bas
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
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First poem in quite some time. This stems from my paranoia, which after a time of having medicated it away, it returned as I wished to see if it still lived within. Needless to say, it does, and it was worse then ever.
© 2014 - 2024 Dragon-Demygod
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Hello!
Nice poem! I missed seeing these pop up in my message box every now and then
Nice poem! I missed seeing these pop up in my message box every now and then