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Literature Text
self-hatred is quite the paradox
and i am living proof
that it is nothing worth living for. it is
something worth dying for, but remember
dying is not instant
for some of us.
i chose slow death
and my flawed suicide was what i received.
dying really opened my eyes
i realised that i loved you
that time we were trapped, both dead,
in the electric garden of eden
it was solar silence
and you couldn't handle it
you could not touch me
not where i became
so cold
deliberate, entendre--
but as ghosts, we melted
together
i wanted to hate you, i said,
but you turned me inside out
and i am living proof
that it is nothing worth living for. it is
something worth dying for, but remember
dying is not instant
for some of us.
i chose slow death
and my flawed suicide was what i received.
dying really opened my eyes
i realised that i loved you
that time we were trapped, both dead,
in the electric garden of eden
it was solar silence
and you couldn't handle it
you could not touch me
not where i became
so cold
deliberate, entendre--
but as ghosts, we melted
together
i wanted to hate you, i said,
but you turned me inside out
Literature
Saving You
Dear Jessie,
If I could save you, I would.
If hands could mend failing lungs and piece together the shattered fragments of bones;
if fingers could sift through DNA and marrow, pull out the poison clogging up arteries,
siphon fluid bursting from synovial sacs and corroding joints;
if words could build you a bed in the nighttime sky,
string together stars and create a cavern in the crescent moon;
I would.
I would blindfold eyes and stitch shut mouths,
covers ears and tie tight hands.
If only I could.
But, wait.
Wait until your tongue is staining the inside of your mouth with lies;
wait until your bones have composed themselves
Literature
gardenia
the five-a.m. floor protested
my sleepless dreaming.
i got up to make you coffee,
no sugar: you were never fond
of sweetening things that needed it.
i drank it on the autumned porch
in the stupor of dawn
and watched my breath unfurl,
like the smoke you spew sometimes
when you're stressed or have something to hide.
i'm sorry i took
your favorite sweater with me
but i knew it would be cold
in the soil with your secrets
and the brooch she left behind.
Literature
Dirty Needles
my skin is an embarrassment of preconceived genetics
without sensory or proof
and all they could say was
My Dear, it's comatose.
the statistic
recovery
and
relapse
tasting forbidden flavors
mountains of unconsciousness
memory is a sieve
capability in the mouth of my nightmares
organs conjuring art
quiet shocks of color
tremolo voices breed beauty with lightning
misunderstood power
Defiance.
they claimed it was premeditated murder
an idea of expected growth
and efficiency
__________________________
the cadaver is resilient; remaining
simply to leech sleep
from oceans
of abandoned opium
Suggested Collections
hatred of the self and love for another--
this is an animal that breathes
delicately, but breathes. somehow in all that pain,
you reach out for the soft touch of another.
--
recognise this?
this is an animal that breathes
delicately, but breathes. somehow in all that pain,
you reach out for the soft touch of another.
--
recognise this?
© 2013 - 2024 silklilies
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