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Literature Text
the tide loved me more than you ever did;
coaxed me in with her siren's song,
the taste of her sweet salt on the back of my tongue.
i've filled my empty lungs with the ocean—
at least she wasn't afraid to fucking touch me.
coaxed me in with her siren's song,
the taste of her sweet salt on the back of my tongue.
i've filled my empty lungs with the ocean—
at least she wasn't afraid to fucking touch me.
Literature
The Writer
He lived through prophetic fever dreams.
Literature
.
Piss Poor Philosophies
I sit here wondering how this all came to be.
Where did all this attention come from?
Why do the shadows haunt me?
are these shadows my mistakes
or my beginnings
My mind is holding these devils,
I don’t know what to do anymore.
I want the demons to stop laughing in my ears.
demons are just my kin -
brother, sister but there is no one connection
Eventually, death becomes my friend.
I realize that I know it well in the end.
Because maybe we’re all dying before we live?
but does living just mean to live
to die
9/23/14
-chromey & lovely
Literature
42
you should never
love a poet, do not trust
them with your
heart - love may be
their language, but
they are always best at
breaking.
Suggested Collections
building homes in washed out places
© 2014 - 2024 brokenfragilethings
Comments11
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So sharp, so beautiful, creates such an impact. I love it.