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Literature Text
i. I watched your skin peel like molten rock from your core; it slid down your curves in a most atrocious fashion. You unzipped your seams and the mumbled thoughts you once had, tumbled out--along with those unsightly worms. The rips of cloth that scantily cover your bones (The flesh had all ready fallen off. We covered this. No?) are nothing more than the inevitable shreds of dust we’ll become. I ate your tears like the chipped edges of pearls and when you wept I was finally satisfied with what I had become.
ii. Darling, do you remember the night I saw your face?
iii. Your eyes didn’t sparkle like crystal blue lakes but to me they could swallow the sun and still be lackluster. (There was nothing poetic about our meeting, if you recall.) I would have remembered that because I always sit across from you with nerves and sinew made of willow branches. They were brown, with the sheen of winter-dust, coating them and making them hollow--though I could have sworn one of them was all ready hollow from the maggots. Your skin was pliable and I pressed my lips against it, but my lips had been rotting next to me for so long that my jawbone collided against it instead.
iv. Were we not lovers. Once? Surely it was once. Perhaps, a decade… or four ago. Time has become an inconsistency and the constellations continue to tell me their lies. I can no longer remember, I believe the essential part of me is withering. Promise me that you will not be afraid.
v. I took you in my arms and as we rocked, pieces of your butterfly bones fell to the earth.
ii. Darling, do you remember the night I saw your face?
iii. Your eyes didn’t sparkle like crystal blue lakes but to me they could swallow the sun and still be lackluster. (There was nothing poetic about our meeting, if you recall.) I would have remembered that because I always sit across from you with nerves and sinew made of willow branches. They were brown, with the sheen of winter-dust, coating them and making them hollow--though I could have sworn one of them was all ready hollow from the maggots. Your skin was pliable and I pressed my lips against it, but my lips had been rotting next to me for so long that my jawbone collided against it instead.
iv. Were we not lovers. Once? Surely it was once. Perhaps, a decade… or four ago. Time has become an inconsistency and the constellations continue to tell me their lies. I can no longer remember, I believe the essential part of me is withering. Promise me that you will not be afraid.
v. I took you in my arms and as we rocked, pieces of your butterfly bones fell to the earth.
Literature
love has calloused fingers
three am
in the morning.
were sitting
back to back.
im wondering
where your
heart is
hiding.
listening to your
calloused fingers;
i wonder
where
your mind
goes, when you
run your hands
across the
neck
of your
guitar.
the chords
replace your
voice-
for now.
im
wondering now
what makes
you tick.
im wondering
how you
keep your
secrets,
in a crowded
room, when
youre so
close
to everyone.
im wondering,
its five twenty-three
in the morning,
what keeps
us
going.
Literature
On Love, In Distance
Dear Eve,
I wish I could blame this on alcohol. I wish I could blame this on drugs. I wish I could blame this on the media and violent videogames and ignorant music like what your little brother listens to.
And I dont know how seriously you take my words,
But the truth is I can only blame you and me (us I guess it could be called) for what we say and do and dance to and steal. Thick as thieves. In the thick of it. Thick skulled.
I think there would be no question about feelings if I spent even a minute more at your side on the couch, maybe just watching the news, the dog on his bed snoring tragic, paper-thin dreams of ca
Literature
the witch's tapers are erotic
Tongues don't think;
thoughts don't speak;
words don't dance;
and legs don't talk.
Yet somehow,
my tongue pressed up against your chapped thighs;
my cracked lips bit through the cracks of your hips--
crackedcrackedcracked
like the scrambled eggs
in the picnic basket
Little Red Riding Hood
gave the malnourished wolf.
Fangs are harmless, but oh dear,
it seems the eggshells are walking on me
like I'm some kind of unvacuumed carpet.
The piling dirt syndicate ganged up on me,
set aflame my summer snowmen,
impeached my Conscience's Chief Cricket;
Oh, my diet lacks relevance and coherence,
but my appetite swallows clinquant harbin
Suggested Collections
The title! ITS PUNNY.
I know. lame
I wanted to try some proesetry so I used *The-Literati's prompt: "Can a Zombie fall in love?"
OF COURSE!
I know. lame
I wanted to try some proesetry so I used *The-Literati's prompt: "Can a Zombie fall in love?"
OF COURSE!
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Comments75
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The imagery in this is just stunning. Truly.