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Literature Text
A grief-stricken moonset--
burning clouds for the sake of silver linings--
captures
the secrets of fireflies.
Under the bed,
hindsight
keeps a close watch
through the dark.
Literature
philosophy has lost its appeal
Your absence isn't the elephant in the room;
It’s the invisible parasites lounging in the floorboards
Just writhing for a taste of lonely flesh.
My repaired left half is gone;
Without you, I’m faulty once more:
The half-blind broken wind-up doll is here again.
There aren't words to describe the emptiness:
just return soon.
Literature
Tonight's Blank Pages
i don't write, but
merely move things
that barely exist
between rooms that don't,
sometimes working weightless
and alone, but
not tonight,
as the dead eyes
of its night sky
hang heavily at my back
these are the hours
when our autoimmune arrangements
collect and coalesce
into starsets and suicides,
our pasts and pinholes
punched through the purple
of lab-stained sheets,
unraveling our dead-forgetfuls
along frayed edges
and somewhere below
tonight's blank pages
and broken implements,
there's a bed
where i don't sleep,
where snapped bits
and machine filings
pile up quietly
in the shape of me
dreaming through hallways
across the moonstone mola
Literature
Morpheus Hex
i.
I am the moon walker,
the black coffee athlete
in the star-dotted evening gown.
I am young, but I feel old,
like an antique with
fresh paint.
Sleep lives in my shadow,
a morphine caregiver
with gentle hands,
but I dare not fall into his arms.
There is a sad knowledge
in his eyes
that I do not trust.
ii.
You left me behind,
but my pillow still
smells like you,
and now my bed feels
like a fucking coffin
without you in it.
iii.
Nights like this
make me wonder
what it feels like to die.
It bothers me that
only the dead know,
and they refuse to share their secret.
One day I will find out
the truth for myself,
and that scares me.
i
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This is great