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Literature Text
What do you think of death?
Everyone will go through it.
I guess it is painful to some.
Sometimes,even more painful for those who witness one.
Have you witness one?
I felt like one.
Everyone will go through it.
I guess it is painful to some.
Sometimes,even more painful for those who witness one.
Have you witness one?
I felt like one.
Grey sky above them, as if mourning.
But there was no rain, thus rainbow may not show up.
Their conversation continued in one’s mind.
Literature
Fallen
When I was little, I held my hands up
and there was always a bigger pair
there to pick me up, raise me up
Dark and cold both accumulate near the ground
but I had found
a path to heaven, now forgotten
as the earth turns 'round;
So overcome by confusion, how...?
I can't cast my demons out
one devil still pulls me down
off the earth and off my gentle cloud
I lay upon the ground,
bloodied, broken, beaten down
and lament my fate, silenced now
He recalls his immoralities as if
they were someone else's little slips
and though his words have scarred me
much deeper than any knife or whip
he parades through town, a man, a god
going on about life as
Literature
Man of Glass (A Million Reasons)
Your name etched in sorrow,
Crimson lines upon my heart,
Your words in bloody furrows,
They tear my soul apart.
A million poems I wrote for you
Torn notes and tears remain.
Cold and distant this is true
With a million reasons, I must explain:
A million reasons (I wish you’d stayed)
All excuses for me to break
A million reasons (Each one a blade)
They burrow into my veins
A million reasons (I blame myself)
You were always just a fake
A million reasons (Mistakes I made)
I long to throw off your chains.
A million pieces is all I am,
I’m the man of glass no more,
I was never truly worth a damn,
A million shards
Literature
A Graveyard
We’re sick enough to spill someone else’s blood,
paint a picture of ourselves with it, and call it love.
I guess that’s what the ego does
when it forgets the bodies we’ve become will eventually turn back to dust.
We’ve held onto the worst parts of our nature,
tried to survive on rotten fruits of our labor—
maggot filled and mangled flesh, should’ve seen it as a sign,
but lately we’ve been complaining that the apple hasn’t been tasting right.
Taste buds blossom and reach up for the taste of death,
spit spilling out our lips, smoke collecting in our chests,
hands erecting effigies
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What do you think when you think of death?
© 2016 - 2024 AlbtraumDamon
Comments32
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Death is inescapable but perhaps the spirit lives on. Nicely done.