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Literature Text
So cold is this bed of thoughts,
My mind is poisoned by lack of locks.
Often I wonder if I should try,
To live in useless lie.
To think it matters that day by day,
We are nothing but a toy to be played.
Some grow angry by the truth,
Taught to be offended in youth.
I just grow tired that things called 'sins',
Are really just what we feel within.
We can not speak our mind,
Our bodies are wrapped in woven twine.
Seek the truth and you will see,
We are bound by lies and greed.
What a wonderful world we live,
It's base is delusion we give.
My mind is poisoned by lack of locks.
Often I wonder if I should try,
To live in useless lie.
To think it matters that day by day,
We are nothing but a toy to be played.
Some grow angry by the truth,
Taught to be offended in youth.
I just grow tired that things called 'sins',
Are really just what we feel within.
We can not speak our mind,
Our bodies are wrapped in woven twine.
Seek the truth and you will see,
We are bound by lies and greed.
What a wonderful world we live,
It's base is delusion we give.
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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See the truth, and be afraid to find. We can live only in delusional lies.
I don't know what's happened yet, but join the fight for literature, read up here. [link]
I don't know what's happened yet, but join the fight for literature, read up here. [link]
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Comments2
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So true.