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Literature Text
I wanted an ending
Where we'll end up in a vast horizon
And the marigolds will continue to bloom
Where brown-winged butterflies will fly
And tie ribbons around us both
Birds'll perch on the red ribbon
And sing songs of our utopia dreams
After prancing in the long reeds
We'll ride towards the sunset
On an alabaster white stallion
We'll murmur sweet lines of bards and poets
And then as the sun turns to night
I'll kiss your lips softly
And my fantasy'll end
Then I realized
I never wanted this love to end
Where we'll end up in a vast horizon
And the marigolds will continue to bloom
Where brown-winged butterflies will fly
And tie ribbons around us both
Birds'll perch on the red ribbon
And sing songs of our utopia dreams
After prancing in the long reeds
We'll ride towards the sunset
On an alabaster white stallion
We'll murmur sweet lines of bards and poets
And then as the sun turns to night
I'll kiss your lips softly
And my fantasy'll end
Then I realized
I never wanted this love to end
Literature
Undead
With so much left unsaid
Here I stand, lost...undead
Your lies were without cost
Without a care for what I lost
Left only with my hate
Blackening my wishful fate
My time is gone, and so are you
If only I knew forever wasn't true
Literature
Catalyst
Suffering in absolute silence
Hate breeding, edge of violence.
Ears closed to desperate pleas
Snarling rage, just let me be.
No tears pool, no drops fall
Strike a match to burn it all.
Hands falter with rush of memories
Bittersweet i smile sadly at the scenes.
No words to egg me nor beg me stay
Mildly curious gaze as I walk away.
Fire licks fingertips with a flick its no longer dangerous.
Filled with anger, none to blame
I alone hold all the shame.
The denominator of pain
The catalyst always stains.
Head held high, trailing flames
I move on for there is no other way.
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Suggested Collections
Something breaking doesn't always mean that it's a bad thing
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
© 2011 - 2024 miloeveryday93
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