literature

borderline

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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
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?
© 2013 - 2024 silklilies
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