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Literature Text
If an angel fell from heaven,
(Or returned from the depths of hell)
And landed in this room,
What would they see to be true?
Would they notice the emptiness?
The heaviness of the air?
The silence?
The emptiness that surrounds us?
The air that carries us?
The silence that will destroy us?
For it is the emptiness that binds us,
The air that will protect us,
And the silence that will leave us for dead...
(Or returned from the depths of hell)
And landed in this room,
What would they see to be true?
Would they notice the emptiness?
The heaviness of the air?
The silence?
The emptiness that surrounds us?
The air that carries us?
The silence that will destroy us?
For it is the emptiness that binds us,
The air that will protect us,
And the silence that will leave us for dead...
Literature
something's haunting the air
my throat is closing in as i ring my fingers slightly, my eyes are following the apparent vessels underneath the surface of my skin, hoping the soaring of emotions to surge from them and stream into the open air.
and maybe then you'll see, see what has been held up inside
"feel free to leave anytime you want." i say, the door is right behind you
-
so lets face it,
so won't you run your fingers all the way to my hips?
[and tell me i'm something other than beautiful]
so won't you make love to me with your eyes?
[and show me where i am right now is better than any place else]
why do i have to even ask you?
"please, don- don't turn away
Literature
Forgotten
I am the voice for the mute
And the eyes for the blind
I am the fighter for the weak
And the protest for the meek
I'm the ears for the deaf,
The hope where none is left
And the love where it's been long forgotten
Literature
psychosomatic demons.
/inhale and exhale. listen for the rise and fall of your abdomen, because it might be the last thing you ever feel./
it begins when you feel the fire warm across the expanse of your back. in an attempt to extinguish it, you twist and turn, falling onto a heap on the floor and arching in ridiculous angles in order to scrabble at the seemingly raw skin. you give up when your joints begin to protest, and the fire happily proceeds to eat through the rest of you. oh, you're so beautiful, it says, words as slick as ice, and it cools down the burnt skin so well. the glint of the mirror catches your eye, and you take in the sinister air, the inky fl
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Yay poetry workshops!
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This has been published. yay!