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Literature Text
countless fingernails embedded in the
shower stalls that rain down acid
of every nightmare, projected like
the heavily spliced silent newsreels of
bi-plane skylines and Purple Gang massacres
in the bubbled cracklings of deteriorating
nitrate, leaving the blackened outline
of a holocaust victim; the lidless glare
of a strobe filtered through the spider-veined
parchment of its skin, lurching off the
chattering sprockets of vertebrae, and
throwing chaos into a clockwork sluice
that sets in motion the next death star cult
shower stalls that rain down acid
of every nightmare, projected like
the heavily spliced silent newsreels of
bi-plane skylines and Purple Gang massacres
in the bubbled cracklings of deteriorating
nitrate, leaving the blackened outline
of a holocaust victim; the lidless glare
of a strobe filtered through the spider-veined
parchment of its skin, lurching off the
chattering sprockets of vertebrae, and
throwing chaos into a clockwork sluice
that sets in motion the next death star cult
Literature
an island retreats
turns out the terms
of our endearment
scrawled in letters
long & hollow
harbor gaps
between the lines
for uncertainty
to follow
toward an end
building momentum
meaning often
just depends
on the depth
of your descent
on the way we
define friends
we're our own
in-verse reflections
the flesh that
a shadow casts
anchoring
each future moment
to a shrieking
shrinking
past
these bodies are
but haunted oceans
learning how
to drown themselves
in an endless
sea of endings
in these self-
created swells
our refrains
praise
the
rain
(falling)
Literature
another doomed doomsday
mankind set their clocks
the omniscient unknowing
slept through the rapture
Literature
Amends
They tell me you're dying,
when you're not etching poetry
into glass.
Words as fragile as the surface they're written on,
not nearly as transparent, though.
Dotted between the lines like Morse-code,
concealed in true poetic verse.
If you want to know a poet,
just fall and one will rise.
The ink flows deep within the lines,
we just have to die to find it.
I see your plead.
They tell me I should make amends,
only the forgiveness you seek
doesn't come from me.
That boy is gone,
and with him
any debt you owed.
Still if it helps ease your passing
I'll say the words.
Like writing a hot check;
it'll get you by for a minute,
but in th
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A run-on spill with stanza breaks to make it respectable - written while on the verge of anything that can help me deal with the prompt to this piece - the physical pain.
© 2010 - 2024 Jade-Pandora
Comments34
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What I understood from this piece was someone who had spent his whole life being bullied, and this bullying became a cultist culture enforced upon the person.
Its like... you truly are alone, and no one gives a damn about you.