throw back this Thursday
to a lifetime ago,
when my bridges were too young
to be fireproof
and I didn't yet know the words
for surrender.
you were my Columbus,
my twisted Magellan,
hands hardened and hungry
for any part of me
that could bear your name.
you sought me and wrought me
dead in the water,
every bloody fingerprint a flag
that marked each brand-new territory
upon my skin -
spread-eagled, supine,
I was greener than grass
and you sent your victory marches
all over me,
steamrolling my rugged edges
and calling me all the kind words for
barbarian.
throw back this Thursday
to a lifetime ago -
people aren't supposed to fall
like leave
A silvery moon reflects on the still pool
-calm in the early Spring breeze.,
As notes wrap around a sleeping world enveloped in a chilled blanket.
Starting in soft E major in harmony with the thawing creek
Light notes grab hold of yawning blossoms
and following the sweep they stretch.
She sits, Mother Nature, upon mossy rocks
her eyes closed and grasping gently the willow wood.
Notes drift continuing the symphony of nature
Flaxen songbirds join at the sunrise calling forth an awakening world.
Woodwinds of the breeze whispering gently tickles leaves
as the world turns a soft green
She played her violin so softly
Strings silk beneath her h
kafka has been dead forever by insomniaplague, literature
Literature
kafka has been dead forever
i.
I am going to cut the veins out of my neck:
pull the stars from the legaments
drown the cities in bruises
ii.
I am going to burn in hell:
tear down the pyramids, the faces, the continents
the weight of the universe
iii.
(if I live to be 20
I will know the landscape of my mind
as well as the bottom of the ocean
& people I've never met)
Lumina...pe genele mele by chibimaniaXD, literature
Literature
Lumina...pe genele mele
Ieri am vopsit cu negru tot peretele
care dădea spre balconul tău
și azi de dimineață am găsit un soare
în mijlocul nopții mele.
La geamul tău era tot atâta lumină
cât am cărat și eu pe genele mele
când m-ai sărutat prima oară
și tot atâta liniște cu cântec.
dead girls don't write poetry by insomniaplague, literature
Literature
dead girls don't write poetry
dear someone,
there are no funerals
for the flesh
no hospitals
for the mind
no curtains & no cremations
for all our pretty words
paradigm,
you can't save every patient
sweet,
a corpse would warm your bed