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Literature Text
you decided a long
time ago, a long time
before it affected your
sight to remember me -
before it throbbed
inside you when someone
uttered my three-syllable
name; oh Tangerine -
that only will you
fight when I widened
the perimeters of
your sore-sighted faults.
you didn't know yet, no-
you were only
suckling at the idea of
changing the world and
looking down at my crawling endeavors
to walk before my
patellas were ready.
I heard them scream
when I was seven, the skin
above them reddened with
the purple of a betrayed
bruise.
sweet lover, does the color wheel
work backwards where I'm from? I was already
so cold, spinning like
the rebellion of an odd
tiny magnet in a terrorist
field. my darling,
do the Sufis miss my
sleepless, praying nights to you?
do they
tell my stories still, even
after you disappeared? my love,
do they still wait
for death to follow me?
you were always gold; summer
skeletons lay still and dusted
in my closet for you. I did not
leave you in my being, my dear, nor
did we part from our crossroads;
our bend in the road stays
stranded where I am, still
half-baked and incomplete
the way your
faults and mine concur
and conquer all that is left
of our frivolous
stay.
time ago, a long time
before it affected your
sight to remember me -
before it throbbed
inside you when someone
uttered my three-syllable
name; oh Tangerine -
that only will you
fight when I widened
the perimeters of
your sore-sighted faults.
you didn't know yet, no-
you were only
suckling at the idea of
changing the world and
looking down at my crawling endeavors
to walk before my
patellas were ready.
I heard them scream
when I was seven, the skin
above them reddened with
the purple of a betrayed
bruise.
sweet lover, does the color wheel
work backwards where I'm from? I was already
so cold, spinning like
the rebellion of an odd
tiny magnet in a terrorist
field. my darling,
do the Sufis miss my
sleepless, praying nights to you?
do they
tell my stories still, even
after you disappeared? my love,
do they still wait
for death to follow me?
you were always gold; summer
skeletons lay still and dusted
in my closet for you. I did not
leave you in my being, my dear, nor
did we part from our crossroads;
our bend in the road stays
stranded where I am, still
half-baked and incomplete
the way your
faults and mine concur
and conquer all that is left
of our frivolous
stay.
Literature
Paint
I'd like to storm Heaven and steal God's paintbrushes.
Then I'd paint rainbows all over the sky so
Everyone knows it's safe to come out.
Literature
paint until there's only positive space
I am the street artist; rough clothes and thin visage
you are the city, vivacious and loud.
Night after night, I find myself in dark places
spraying colours on your faces just to talk to you.
Have you ever tagged a train?
The art I envy is like you –
making waves at night to leave the landscape brighter in the day.
You are the cause I just want to connect with:
fresh, something different, something new.
Literature
6 word stories
I. Like snow,
She was falling - white and cold.
II. Every other day,
Red lights - she sighs - shines down.
III. While he sleeps peacefully,
Eyeballs glow, secretly, under the bed.
IV. Bedsheets
Ripple like waves on the lonely bed.
V. Our kittens,
Nasty little things, purring away the afternoon.
VI. Middle-age.
Dainty hands, watch as wrinkles come.
VII.
Young faces, autumn grass, counting stars.
Suggested Collections
is the same in our hearts.
© 2014 - 2024 your-methamphetamine
Comments24
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I took a leave from your poetry because it touches me too deeply for me to control my reactions, but oh how I missed losing myself in the loves of your words.