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Literature Text
The best way I found
to catch my seven-twenty train
is to miss the seven-o-five, be late
and grow a glut of yin
from the corpses of yangs
drown mondays to breathe tuesdays
but I nibbled cake and kept it too;
I caught the seven-o-five
and the hands fell off the clock,
fell off my wristwatch
to catch my seven-twenty train
is to miss the seven-o-five, be late
and grow a glut of yin
from the corpses of yangs
drown mondays to breathe tuesdays
but I nibbled cake and kept it too;
I caught the seven-o-five
and the hands fell off the clock,
fell off my wristwatch
Literature
shallow breath, aching bones.
this feeling is too big for me.
too giant for my small frame to contain
and its spreading and spilling out and
over my insides and leaving me waking
up with bruises from dreams so real
they hurt.
this feeling is too much for me.
i can't carry it all, it leave part of it
dragging alongthe ground behind
me and i tend to forget its there
and i trip over it and fall to ground.
i decided to collect bruises
but i dont have to look to far
they tend to seek me out
and scatter themselves across my skin.
Literature
shallow breaths
the sun comes down a little earlier around here
a hemisphere away and winter's setting in
but i stopped feeling the cold
a while ago
it used to sting, stickily fresh
but now the wound's healing
knitting together with paralyzing heat
with suffocating heat
just let me breathe
just
let me
i unzippered my chest the other day
let out the butterflies behind my ribcage
spilled sparrowsong from my wrists
good god, i'm finally free
you guys
are all
just
shallow believers
you guys are all
just
Literature
rock bottom, ocean floor
half-past a different kind of broken
on sadness, she wrote:
blind fool in the umbra
bury yourself in me
on the other side of lonely
and by god, i love you
(maybe i will be a landfill)
everyone i meet looks for a place to stay;
out of the woods, on wet roads
under wind, under rain
-i'm so far away
no wonder it took him 1455 pages
waiting for her to come this way
tramps like us-
in lieu of emptiness
in absence of a poem
wander, wander
(pour a little salt, we were never here)
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you have to lose
you have to lose
you have to learn how to die
if you want to want to be alive
-- Wilco
you have to lose
you have to learn how to die
if you want to want to be alive
-- Wilco
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Hi there! Just a note to let you know that I've featured this piece in my journal