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Literature Text
Tick tock
Mindblock
This clock
Won’t stop
Eyes meet
Heartbeat
Cold feet
Retreat
This trance
Come dance
Hold hands
One chance
Love grow
Rhythm flow
Warm glow
Don’t go
Want this
Your lips
One kiss
Pure bliss.
Mindblock
This clock
Won’t stop
Eyes meet
Heartbeat
Cold feet
Retreat
This trance
Come dance
Hold hands
One chance
Love grow
Rhythm flow
Warm glow
Don’t go
Want this
Your lips
One kiss
Pure bliss.
Literature
never trust a writer
It's best to stay far away from us writers. We're double-agents, and can't be trusted.
You see, we just have this terrible privilege of not being able to tell the difference between reality and fiction. We sometimes forget that the emotions in our head might not run with as much passion as they really do, and then we get disappointed in things that make normal people happy. We're afraid to get close to people, and yet all we do is yearn for human contact. That's why we write about it, and that's why we lose touch on what it really feels like to be in a relationship.
Writers often find that we don't fully comprehend the world around us, and,
Literature
Sleepless Nights
My bloodshot eyes are stained with black, circled by dark rings of sleepless nights and smudged ink. I have a permanent headache, my mind singing bloody hymns with battered rhythm and broken voice; my failing vision clouded by smoke and cracked glass.
Words leak out of my skull, seeping like black tar; they burn my skin like the sting of elusive flames. I have broken promises tattooed on my chest.
And this is how it feels to have your imagination chained to your heart.
I lower my ink-stained hand to ravaged paper, and words trickle out of my veins.
The man looks up through shadow-filled lash
Literature
dare you reject me?
my name is help.
everyone wants me at the wrong time,
my name constantly being torn from parched throats and shrieked with hoarse voices.
unless you're happy.
then you don't want or
need me.
many can't accept me, even when i masquerade myself as 'assistance' or 'aid'.
pride is no friend of mine and
i make a lover out of every furious emotion a human can comprehend;
anguish on mondays, fright on tuesdays,
resentment on wednesdays,
fear on thursdays,
hopelessness on fridays, anger on saturdays,
reluctance on sundays.
i flirt with disaster and shun predictability like a bad habit.
there's a rumor going around that i taste bitte
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This little pome just popped into my head this morning while listening to the clock tick away in the kitchen.
I suppose it kind of explores the feelings of lust that stem from music and rhythm; the strange need to get close to someone, for example while in a nightclub. That's the kind of scene I had in my head, anyway.
Thanks for your comments and faves! ♥
I suppose it kind of explores the feelings of lust that stem from music and rhythm; the strange need to get close to someone, for example while in a nightclub. That's the kind of scene I had in my head, anyway.
Thanks for your comments and faves! ♥
© 2009 - 2024 Kezzi-Rose
Comments38
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Unique and fun. Great style!