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Literature Text
two lovers , eclipsed in eternity
[ i don't want tomorrow to come ]
colloquial conversations ,
come perch in the rafters with me
and we'll spin gold out of straw
and write our own fairy tales .
[ i dressed myself in bleeding madras ]
crusaders love your tenacity , your absentminded
speech gives them ecstatic delight .
but i want you to come home .
capricious wind bites my feet ,
blankets crying as bare skin
smothers dry bone .
[ the halcyon days are long gone , luv . ]
[ i don't want tomorrow to come ]
colloquial conversations ,
come perch in the rafters with me
and we'll spin gold out of straw
and write our own fairy tales .
[ i dressed myself in bleeding madras ]
crusaders love your tenacity , your absentminded
speech gives them ecstatic delight .
but i want you to come home .
capricious wind bites my feet ,
blankets crying as bare skin
smothers dry bone .
[ the halcyon days are long gone , luv . ]
Literature
boo.
fondness
and foundations
make this make up
a meta for love.
made up of touch
and tell, the tolls
of the bell
find new life
from a reposition of old.
since the first day
you arrived,
i can't remember
the last day without you.
shuffling your spirit
in many angles,
this brushstroke
aches to paint you
in the way
rembrandt painted angels.
midnight oceanic tresses
to sepia seams
the plush of things
always seems gentler.
with you,
things are always better.
Literature
October short story
It was staring at me, from the window. Its eyes never wavering from meeting mine. Its mouth was just a wide jagged line of sharp teeth frozen into a lip-less smile. Its long claws curved and filthy with something awful. There was something staining the window, the street light outside illuminating chunks and making the dripping lines glow. The creature was unmoving from its spot.
The terrifying part is that it’s on the inside of the window.
Literature
Unknowable
Unknowable
The darkness pressed against my corneas, diffusing across the transparent boundary into the aqueous humour, as if it were a solid object forcing its way to my retinas, obscuring my vision. The distant creaks of the old house lent a menacing atmosphere to the blackness permeating the almost silent rooms, the almost footsteps complementing the almost-forms of the dark.
As the sleep fell away from me, the looming tenebrosity receded and the house took on a less perturbing aspect. The creaks were just creaks, the shadows in the corners of the room were just the places that the dim light from the power extension cable near the bed did
Suggested Collections
people say there are other fish in the sea , but i say " screw you , he was my sea ."
Comments4
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You write beautifully, my dear.