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Literature Text
Find me a way to save me from myself,
all the streets are empty of thoughts;
your company is enough. You hold me
down on a spot. I find the keys to my home,
it's your name that opens the door.
Still, all photographs are useless;
we're not in any of them. We're a dream
short of reality. We sleep constantly
waiting for the wake up call. A ring
that calls us both to the empty houses
we once left behind.
Still, we hold on; our hands untied
of one another, our wrists still tied
to our will. We look at the distance,
like we measure our own. We can't
cross our line of sight without feeling
desperately alone.
Still, I find me ways to save me
from the thought of being emptied:
the colors you own are not yours to keep,
the flowers you leave out to dry are just
signs of when our wills don't meet,
but I leave my body on your bed,
I dream asleep for you to come.
You rarely do. You rarely walk
the distance between your steps
and the lack of your own thoughts.
All the wooden boards crack under our feet,
oh, the weight of the world we didn't want to meet.
all the streets are empty of thoughts;
your company is enough. You hold me
down on a spot. I find the keys to my home,
it's your name that opens the door.
Still, all photographs are useless;
we're not in any of them. We're a dream
short of reality. We sleep constantly
waiting for the wake up call. A ring
that calls us both to the empty houses
we once left behind.
Still, we hold on; our hands untied
of one another, our wrists still tied
to our will. We look at the distance,
like we measure our own. We can't
cross our line of sight without feeling
desperately alone.
Still, I find me ways to save me
from the thought of being emptied:
the colors you own are not yours to keep,
the flowers you leave out to dry are just
signs of when our wills don't meet,
but I leave my body on your bed,
I dream asleep for you to come.
You rarely do. You rarely walk
the distance between your steps
and the lack of your own thoughts.
All the wooden boards crack under our feet,
oh, the weight of the world we didn't want to meet.
Literature
Confession.
I sold hope.
Out of stock.
Literature
kotov syndrome for sovereignty
Connect the Dots:
me, you, him, her.
us. them. never.
always. forever.
together. close.
far. love. hate.
lust. sex. fuck.
me.
back to square
one: i am not a chinese checker.
two: my life is not a chessboard.
three:
Literature
HAMWYMAC pt1
Heroes Are Made When You Make A Choice
There is a girl. You don't usually notice her.
There is a boy. You always make fun of him.
But aren't they both worth the time? Aren't they both worth the effort to get to know, before you judge? One day, you awake, you get dressed, put on your makeup, make sure everything is just so, and you head to school. You get onto the bus and loudly complain that there are no empty seats, just as you pass her. She's sitting alone and no one's next to her. There's an empty seat right there. She doesn't bother looking up, she used to, but there's no point anymore. If you were to look carefully, or look at all and
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2/6/2010.
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Comments28
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There's a lot of good stuff in this, and I understand the sentiment whole-heartedly. I think this could benefit from a few more surprises and jarrign imagery, though.