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Literature Text
I watch you, I do
I entertain thoughts you know
nothing about
I read between words
between lines
looking for the shape of you
I let you haunt me
but only for a moment
Then I put you back
in the tiny box that doesn't exist
Because you're surreal and so real
and you make no sense
Except that when I'm not looking
I buy into it
let you taunt me
Feel your body pour over me
rich and sweet like cream
I enter through your eyes
I paint pictures
with the tip of my mind
string pieces of us together
invisible and unforgettable
Sometimes I remember that this is not me
and you are not you
By then it's too late
You've whispered into my ear
I've kissed you a thousand times
I've touched your face
I've felt the heat of your skin
You've sunken in, daunting
I entertain thoughts you know
nothing about
I read between words
between lines
looking for the shape of you
I let you haunt me
but only for a moment
Then I put you back
in the tiny box that doesn't exist
Because you're surreal and so real
and you make no sense
Except that when I'm not looking
I buy into it
let you taunt me
Feel your body pour over me
rich and sweet like cream
I enter through your eyes
I paint pictures
with the tip of my mind
string pieces of us together
invisible and unforgettable
Sometimes I remember that this is not me
and you are not you
By then it's too late
You've whispered into my ear
I've kissed you a thousand times
I've touched your face
I've felt the heat of your skin
You've sunken in, daunting
Literature
280
pen across paper
the rhythmic tapping of keyboard running
my being is letters
yet i cannot make words
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
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Might be a part 1, more to say....
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Comments13
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I feel like I wrote this...
Enjoyed it, every word.
Enjoyed it, every word.