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Literature Text
Falling through the
Neverending abyss
Of despair.
I find that I
Just cannot win
In my war for
Stability.
I try to make
Those around me
Happy. But conceding
Never seems to work.
In my wayfor stability,
I fall face-first into
A wall of self-doubt.
I beat on it,
and scream at it.
Only to burst into tears
In the end, it truly
Doesn't matter.
I have lost my war
For my own stability
As I lie here
On my bed
Venting my anger
With pen and paper.
I just want the pain
To go away and
Face the sun and
Scream "I'm free!"
Neverending abyss
Of despair.
I find that I
Just cannot win
In my war for
Stability.
I try to make
Those around me
Happy. But conceding
Never seems to work.
In my wayfor stability,
I fall face-first into
A wall of self-doubt.
I beat on it,
and scream at it.
Only to burst into tears
In the end, it truly
Doesn't matter.
I have lost my war
For my own stability
As I lie here
On my bed
Venting my anger
With pen and paper.
I just want the pain
To go away and
Face the sun and
Scream "I'm free!"
Literature
Fruitbat
A portrait is a flat mechanism.
In suit and tie or dress, some stooped
at the base of couches dragged into frame
and then left there, staring forward.
It does not matter who, the people in portraits belong
to the immaculate house of the past
where no one has ever lived
and the furniture is simple wood
propped up by a dowel or a sheaf of papers,
solid oak wrapped tight with gossamer thin cloth.
Even this is untrue, for the ones who know
about gossamer are now dead, stock set
in memories born still
for the things hinted in them had not happened.
The brown tinged wood was not illuminated
by a light cast outside the photograph,
swaying in a foye
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
Behind The Veil
There are some things that are not part of the world of the living; questions that should never be answered, places that should never be discovered. But there will always be fools who will try to. And those who do, suffer a fate worse than death. Worse than any torture ever conceived in the dark corners of the human mind.
One such place lies deep beneath the ground, in an unreachable cave. Its entrance hidden, invisible to everyone, except to those who are cursed. After a three-day descent towards the source of the foul air, wandering ever further from sunlight and its warmth, you reach a vast opening.
An empty hall, more grandiose in its s
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Comments2
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i agree with ralasterphecy...your emotions are written very well and a lot of people can relate to it...