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Literature
on not knowing.
this road was ten miles long.
i traveled barefoot.
Literature
this one's four you three two
her name, if i remember correctly, was laura, melissa and purple.
picture this;
a girl stays far away from the swing, too scared to touch the sky and follow in the footsteps of wax-winged men. her mammy said the branch would give in. her friend crowns the tree with whispered words, and tells the petrified bark never to give up on itself.
they learn how to spell, fumbling fingers holding fat crayons in fists, racing each oh-tee-her, el-ih-ay-ar-ning to-get-her. it doesn't matter to them that they don't get full marks even though "l-e-a-r-anne" and "d-e-c-laura-t-i-o-n" are clearly wrong.
they are four and nothing's stopping them from livin
Literature
Depressing Russian Literature.
Guilt is a piano on top of you
instead of a man. Street noises
drain you like bleach on a rainbow.
Indecision becomes a washer & dryer
you can't stop putting things into
& taking things out of all through
a painful fluorescent night. The
brain becomes smoke, a hidden stash
of dark red cigarettes, dipped in
formaldehyde, waiting for you.
Depressing Russian literature
becomes your best friend & you
can't remember what it is like
to have a flesh & bone best friend,
a soft voice at the other end, someone to cough up
pounds of dirt and flashlights and floods with you.
Fun becomes self-destruction in the for
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Pardon the language.
Pardonnez la langue.
Enjoy.
Pardonnez la langue.
Enjoy.
Mature
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Comments5
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"I speak the language of illegitimate poets,
bastards who preach cultivation of gardens"
simply amazing. i also like the way that it intersects with reality again with the word "top". very nicely done.
bastards who preach cultivation of gardens"
simply amazing. i also like the way that it intersects with reality again with the word "top". very nicely done.