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Literature Text
You carry the winds upon your back,
for fear there won't be enough to nudge
you forward when you lose your way.
But I was never one for
better safe than sorry
and I'd rather go my whole life
without a hard days work than
know exactly where I've been
and where I'm headed.
(in the depths, where even your lamp-light eyes can't shine, I'll wander onward)
for fear there won't be enough to nudge
you forward when you lose your way.
But I was never one for
better safe than sorry
and I'd rather go my whole life
without a hard days work than
know exactly where I've been
and where I'm headed.
(in the depths, where even your lamp-light eyes can't shine, I'll wander onward)
Literature
Idols
“She had everything you could ever want, and yet she let it all go up in flames.
“She won hundreds of awards for her flights, and she’d tell so many stories from all the places she’d been; places you could only dream about going: Africa, Paris, London, Australian, you name it; she’d been there. She was this shining heroine in the Aviation industry dominated by men. But everything went downhill one flight.
“The turbulence was extra strong, or so they say. The plane was going down. She tried to call for help, but no one answered. It was her, one other passenger, and one parachute. She knew what she had to d
Literature
Reykjavik For Lezayre
so slip, i stumble. fumble with the
doorknob and your key falls with me
im falling into - there you are
i see you in
these ports and the sea foam shades
of the fog that parts at dawn the day
before i find myself - here you are
i want to be left alone but -
it was the taste, salty and too sweet
it was too much and my tongue
is not appeasing or the tricks
that tease -
come close. still this one last time
there’s something underneath your
skin steady i want
inside
you - to see, how i memorize you
in every gasp that splits the air around
us and when you cum - crashing
Literature
quarter past midnight
The nascence of fall whispers
Quietly behind my ears -
The ripple of a full golden moon
Over thick, inky waves.
The last storm of summer left
Gaping darkness in the glass city,
Contorted boughs etched against
A disconcertingly wide sky.
Months of transition.
Anesthesia.
The knowledge that one day
That there will be one
Empty bed in the house
(please have mercy
please).
Drowning out the fear in soundwaves late at night.
Tearing lives apart with my bare hands
(Blood swirling open like petals;
I'm so sorry).
Crippling self hate and doubt.
Running from the ones I should love
(the southern stars offer consolation; outside,
the milky way arc
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Comments8
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Hm. You should read "The Name of the Wind" by Patrick Rothfuss. It has this as one of the driving themes for the main character. (Also, it's the best book I've ever read, and has phrases like yours that make me question the world and what/how I've been taught. Yes. Some of your lines actually do that.)