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Literature Text
She bites her tongue in self-disgust as she traces the words "I love you" down her arm compulsively, (she no longer knows how to say anything else) and runs his white shirt sleeve across her lower lip to wipe away the blood.
It's 3 hours until midnight and she's watching them,
in her bed.
*
There's still a thin film of dust layered across her skin from when he brushed the ashes of her citadel off his shoulder. She knows there's no putting the pieces back together again, not with the smell of his cologne in her nose. Her mosaic walls a soft powder beneath her feet. She doesn't try.
She walks.
*
The cliffs of Ireland cannot win against the sea she says, watching the surf crash beneath her bloodied toes,
and neither will he.
It's 3 hours until midnight and she's watching them,
in her bed.
*
There's still a thin film of dust layered across her skin from when he brushed the ashes of her citadel off his shoulder. She knows there's no putting the pieces back together again, not with the smell of his cologne in her nose. Her mosaic walls a soft powder beneath her feet. She doesn't try.
She walks.
*
The cliffs of Ireland cannot win against the sea she says, watching the surf crash beneath her bloodied toes,
and neither will he.
Literature
disproportional, disadvantaged
there's a 100% chance that
i love you,
a 100% chance that
you love me,
but a 0.00% chance of
Us ever working out.
Literature
faults between the lines.
the moths are dying, and she
is sitting on a swing screaming silently
into the sky.
__
the lamp is fading, and he
is standing by the table tinkering tirelessly
with an inkless pen
and three sheets of blank paper.
she doesn't see
because she is too busy hating herself
for the creak of grease
and the corpses that litter the floor like leaves.
he can only see
because he is too free wishing for autumn to come quicker and
scrubbing the stains from echoing floorboards
and where her footsteps used to be.
it was on a rooftop in spring.
they were sitting among loose tiles holding hands.
he said, 'sometimes I think I don't exist.'
Literature
i dont understand
have you ever woken up and not thought anything at all?
-
somtimes i find myself thinking that 'it'd be fun to go and stand out in the rain' so i do. but once i'm out there i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be invigorating to take off my clothes' so i do. but once i've done that, i find myself thinking 'wouldn't it be beautiful to climb on the rooftop', so i do. and then once i'm standing there, i find myself thinking, 'wouldn't it be magical to fall in love' and so i try. i try and try and try but i can't. and so there i am, standing naked on my rooftop in the rain trying to fall in love.
-
sometimes i find myself imagining that all w
Suggested Collections
Been working on this one off an on for the past week. Like the first part. The rest of it needs some revising I think.
Suspire
v. -i. breathe; sigh. suspiration, n. suspirative, adj.
Edit:
!GwenavhyeurAnastasia pointed out some issues, and this is my first revision.
Suspire
v. -i. breathe; sigh. suspiration, n. suspirative, adj.
Edit:
!GwenavhyeurAnastasia pointed out some issues, and this is my first revision.
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Comments35
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"she no longer knows how to say anything else" is awesome. i recommend going down some magical realism paths with that.
"in her bed" needs no separation (not even commaO from the line preceding. in fact, to me, it makes it weaker, straining for such attention.
the ending is nice.
the middle contradicts the first part. i think the line "she knows there's no putting the pieces back together again" needs to go bye-bye.
(maybe try to use the fact that the sea by its lonesome does not defeat the cliffs of Ireland, the sea and its eroding tide and whatnot are powered by many forces: the moon, the wind, the seasons, et cetera: perhaps a parallel can be drawn 'twixt that love can / cannot --depending on your perspective / direction / point in the story -- be defeated by its lonesome)
"in her bed" needs no separation (not even commaO from the line preceding. in fact, to me, it makes it weaker, straining for such attention.
the ending is nice.
the middle contradicts the first part. i think the line "she knows there's no putting the pieces back together again" needs to go bye-bye.
(maybe try to use the fact that the sea by its lonesome does not defeat the cliffs of Ireland, the sea and its eroding tide and whatnot are powered by many forces: the moon, the wind, the seasons, et cetera: perhaps a parallel can be drawn 'twixt that love can / cannot --depending on your perspective / direction / point in the story -- be defeated by its lonesome)