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Literature Text
this is the part where i
grow back my worn out
spine, and knuckle bones
and it hurts like
trembling, and pins and needles.
catharsis, they would say
if they had only known
where i had
been, wasting all
that time in some
sick catatonia,
fuck- let me go to an opium den
like any normal anachronism.
{ your heart is an opium den your heart is an opium den your heart
is }
i was an alien and
he wanted to fuck me and
at three in the morning
i went looking for UFOs
- i wanted to go home and
outer space was as good a place
as any
{ i regret i regret i regret i regret, the wounding touches and what i did to that oceans-away love }
darling did i not say
you could have all
of me
- i want to think i meant it
just let me drown
you don't have to be cruel
"lynne is an unrecognized disease in psychological terms, where the person will hold their hands around their throats, and scream to the point of losing their voice, because they are screaming for the one thing they can either no longer have or no longer reach."
really,
it's the least
i could do.
grow back my worn out
spine, and knuckle bones
and it hurts like
trembling, and pins and needles.
catharsis, they would say
if they had only known
where i had
been, wasting all
that time in some
sick catatonia,
fuck- let me go to an opium den
like any normal anachronism.
{ your heart is an opium den your heart is an opium den your heart
is }
i was an alien and
he wanted to fuck me and
at three in the morning
i went looking for UFOs
- i wanted to go home and
outer space was as good a place
as any
{ i regret i regret i regret i regret, the wounding touches and what i did to that oceans-away love }
darling did i not say
you could have all
of me
- i want to think i meant it
just let me drown
you don't have to be cruel
"lynne is an unrecognized disease in psychological terms, where the person will hold their hands around their throats, and scream to the point of losing their voice, because they are screaming for the one thing they can either no longer have or no longer reach."
really,
it's the least
i could do.
Literature
Untitled
I'm not sure;
i.
my hands don't remember how to write, and
my mind isn't used to sharing -
in words, at least
ii.
there are days when I want to cut parts of my body off;
my stomach and legs and all the places girls don't like
and I know what I need to do to be well; sabotage
iii.
I have a boy who loves me and today we ran around in the garden
he says I am beautiful
iv.
for a moment I thought my cluttered room was making
my lipid stores cluttered: if I clean and clean, I'm clean
and then, maybe not
v.
if I look at enough girls I can feel sad enough too
vi.
I went home and found my awards for being clever
and wondered what changed,
Literature
Untitled
after sundown,
bees
in the crabapple blossoms
Literature
Untitled 7
Im at the point That im writing poems in my head About how lovely you are And trying not to cry Because this time i know I know for sure you will leave And the lovely feeling will fade Youll be a pleasant memory Of warm and slow nights Of smoke and laughter. New ideas and thoughts That are really just old. And like all the other ones before Youll never see the words Written to try and get half Even a quarter of my intense feelings Out of me and into a safe place.
Suggested Collections
something old and left mostly unsaid.
i mean it.
i mean it.
© 2012 - 2024 iwasearnestonce
Comments1
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I absolutely love this it's beautiful