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Literature Text
Ingredients:
Your morals
Your memories
Your dreams
Your friends
Step 1:
Break your morals with a steel rod and pour their lovely carcasses over a blazing fire.
Step 2:
Leave your morals to writhe and sputter, choking on the fetid ash.
Step 3:
Forget about them for three years, then come back and shake your head at the mess.
Step 4:
Put your memories in a nice little box and place razor blades along the sides. Then drag the box along the side of your head every thirty minutes.
Step 5:
Place the box on top of your face, and let it sit there overnight.
Step 6:
Take your dreams and use them to mop up the blood drawn by your memories.
Step 7:
Take the ashes of your morals, the box filled with memories, and your blood-soaked dreams and present them to your friends. Then promptly place them on the ground, and urinate on them, encouraging your friends to join you.
Step 8:
Grow old against your will.
Step 9:
Cry.
Step 10:
Die.
Your morals
Your memories
Your dreams
Your friends
Step 1:
Break your morals with a steel rod and pour their lovely carcasses over a blazing fire.
Step 2:
Leave your morals to writhe and sputter, choking on the fetid ash.
Step 3:
Forget about them for three years, then come back and shake your head at the mess.
Step 4:
Put your memories in a nice little box and place razor blades along the sides. Then drag the box along the side of your head every thirty minutes.
Step 5:
Place the box on top of your face, and let it sit there overnight.
Step 6:
Take your dreams and use them to mop up the blood drawn by your memories.
Step 7:
Take the ashes of your morals, the box filled with memories, and your blood-soaked dreams and present them to your friends. Then promptly place them on the ground, and urinate on them, encouraging your friends to join you.
Step 8:
Grow old against your will.
Step 9:
Cry.
Step 10:
Die.
Literature
Stop Trying
stop trying to cross
the bridge
that you were
oh so quick to burn
your time on my island
ran out
when you did
Literature
The Quiet Thoughts of Butterflies
she says "I'm worried if I breathe
too loud the silence will
swallow me."
I watch her hands press butterfly
wings between the pages.
does she know that
I'm the queen of silence?
my corpse lungs and
graveyard lips; a decomposing
tongue lurking behind white-washed
tombstones. paint me with sunbeams,
Literature
SHE'S THE GIRL ...
She's the girl that sits in the corner biting back her distress,
hoping for some cashmere care, a smile to end her mess,
but the shadows creep inward and the darkness she can't fight,
so with the ink of what remains unspoken, she writes.
She stares ahead, into eyes that don't notice her tears
and the emotion that reduces her to an unknown smear,
she swallows hard the plaintive cries from making their escape,
trying to hold together, inside they stay and distort her shape.
Another tear slips free and another, moments of peace are few,
she hears her heartbeat ricochet off Silence, there's no rescue
from the voices that crowd her sanit
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Comments8
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Really good great imagery