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Literature Text
this is the beginning of the end
“i know you,” he says.
and he looks defeated, he looks sad, he looks like
he's a boy who may one day realize how much
he cares for you, so you cut him off and say,
“minus all the secrets i don’t tell anyone.”
“well, yeah, minus those.”
“then you don’t know me at all.”
and then you tell him,
i love you. but you don’t use those words
because those are taboo. are jinxed.
are knock on wood three times fast.
instead you press him in a hug and say,
i’m sorry, knowing he won’t understand
that this is the first time you ever cared for something
enough to try and fix it after you hurt it.
you hope he doesn’t ever realize what you’re saying
and his response will always be ‘what for?’ because
if he figures out he loves you nothing changes.
he’s just going to be in love with a corpse, a memory,
a pair of trigger happy hands, a pile of bones,
a million ways to stop a suicide victim.
so you say i’m sorry because you know
he’s smart,
and you know it’s inevitable.
this is the middle of the end.
you wake up in the morning alone.
that’s not unusual, you went to sleep that way,
because you’re always leaving even after
you promise to stay.
what is unusual is the metal gun you slept with in your hand
when you used to sleep with the stuffed animal
your friend made you in fifth grade.
you put the muzzle in your mouth and think
of all the reasons you should and all the reasons
you shouldn’t.
this is the end of the end
you pull the trigger.
Literature
denial and uglier aftermath
i drink to you, raising my glass and
choking down the things you left,
ignoring my gag reflex and waiting
on the buzzing in my head, white cotton
lullabies for the weak of heart.
it kills me that we are just a
collection of vignettes, that soon
i might see your blossom fingers
and bleeding sunset smile but
only as a memory gone static with neglect;
this summer, i became a rebel. a
martyr in a child’s game, a vagrant
with boxes of dead poetry to call
a home, and when i asked you to want me,
it’s only so you’d take the sanity and consciousness
with you when you left. i miss
the days when personality disorders
were not gra
Literature
I think you left a piece of you in me.
This tangled mess you call a heart,
daisy veins & sin;
She's bringing me down.
& you were merely shivering
kite-string clavicles.
Nothing,
pressing winter bones
against my sun-stricken mouth,
darkness searching for a home
buried in my lungs.
You whispered breathe me
lovely in the inhale/exhale
of carbon dioxide suicide.
She speaks only of you now,
lonely & mourning beats-
Crack open this damn ribcage;
set me
free.
Literature
Colorblind
I gave away my name today
and it might be a metaphor, but I think
we only remember the quietest suicides
the walls are thin enough to listen
as the angels try to scratch free;
bloodied fingernails and God says everyone
screws up, sometimes
I'm waiting for a silent night.
I only ever believed in solid ground
and depressions' tides, and sometimes,
those little wounds I nursed deep
within my vocal chords (because
my voice is dying, too)
I can see the beautiful people, now
overdosing on their own opiums of
self-acquittal and dissolution
they ran out of ways to ask for help.
I'm fragile, but my glass ribs
aren't holding much
and
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"happy birthday to me,
happy birthday to me,
it's weird cause it's my birthday,
and i've never felt more lonely."
have some second-person poetry. i wanted to make it short, so sorry if not a lot of things make sense.
no, but really there has to be some poetic irony in the fact that on the day i was born, i really wish i hadn't been.
dear you,
don't concern yourself with my mental stability, that's not your job anymore.
happy birthday to me,
it's weird cause it's my birthday,
and i've never felt more lonely."
have some second-person poetry. i wanted to make it short, so sorry if not a lot of things make sense.
no, but really there has to be some poetic irony in the fact that on the day i was born, i really wish i hadn't been.
dear you,
don't concern yourself with my mental stability, that's not your job anymore.
© 2013 - 2024 MisfitableGrae
Comments18
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This is so beautifully written! I know that sounds odd because it is such a sad tale but you really conveyed the story in an interesting way! Points to you!!