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Literature Text
We sat on that frozen bench in the forgotten park that consisted of loneliness, nostalgia and agony, vines twisting and breaking through thorns. With every second, our frantic bodies moved closer together, like liveless little marionettes. I could feel your eyelashes on my brittle skin; wanting to turn away - they were almost too cold to bear.
"Move closer", I mouthed. I've been picturing our lips colliding and our bodies loosing track and starting to function with one fully beating heart.
"I don't think your inertia is attracting mine anymore". You consisted of too much gravity, or not enough, and suddenly my heart didn't like my ribcage anymore and it was trying to break me.
With every pixel, your skin was closer and closer to crashing mine.
Six
five
four
three
two
one...
zero
degrees celcius is the temperature at which water freezes. I didn't, because I didn't want to be cold forever.
"Move closer", I mouthed. I've been picturing our lips colliding and our bodies loosing track and starting to function with one fully beating heart.
"I don't think your inertia is attracting mine anymore". You consisted of too much gravity, or not enough, and suddenly my heart didn't like my ribcage anymore and it was trying to break me.
With every pixel, your skin was closer and closer to crashing mine.
Six
five
four
three
two
one...
zero
degrees celcius is the temperature at which water freezes. I didn't, because I didn't want to be cold forever.
Literature
dont write under the influence
Dr. Asclepius called me;
he told me i'm bipolar
(i still say it's luxuria)
My prescription?
Fucking medicine.
Take two pills:
Doctor's Orders
(as if anyone actually
obeys those, anyway)
Take another pill.
One for each time
you looked at me,
then two more if
i had looked back.
i'll take one more for that time you
branded fake
Literature
syncope
I am in a coma, and this seems like it's happening but it isn't. I am living in my head- a universe where I'm 18 years old but I'll wake up 36. I can see gravity, I can see the wind, I can see all the universes packed inside everyone's heads and it's tiring. it's a loud place here. in my head, I can't react to the environment around me the same way in reality, I'm not moving and I'm living off of the life that the machines give to me. I am disconnected and dead, but sadly not dead enough. I will open my eyes and everything will be different.
cold cement beneath my bare feet. I take this poison every morning. the doctor says it'll help and he
Literature
midnight.
it is midnight and the clocks are chiming in the almost-silence. the sky feels like rain and somewhere, some girl is dancing and laughing and smiling, but she's certainly not me.
our hearts are cold. they've been sleeping, curled into themselves for too long without a blanket or a pillow or a smile to fall back on. it's midnight and the sky feels like rain and there's going to be a storm later,
but it won't match the storms inside, that's for sure.
we are biting our nails, smiling and pretending nothing is wrong and saying, yes, darling, i'll get rid of this horrible habit in the morning. it'll all be better tomorrow,
except it's midnight
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This is rather strange.
I'll be singing Every rose has its thorn in front of more than twenty people tonight, wish me luck.
I'll be singing Every rose has its thorn in front of more than twenty people tonight, wish me luck.
© 2009 - 2024 ColouredRain
Comments24
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Very simple, yet powerful. Your closing has to be my favorite