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Literature Text
Insusceptible, he lived
during the early hours of
eleven to four.
he was stubborn- he knew how to
treat a lady well but
realised waiting on people
wasn't an obligation.
I heard he found reconcilation
in chasing ghosts and
loving brittle things
he could not grasp.
I loved him from the day he left.
Absence fosters such
sentimental souls.
living hand to mouth on
our theoretical timezones,
two-liner niceties draw static-
I'm left to conversations with dial tones.
He was a missing thumb and forefinger,
He was a romance of misguided placebos.
He was a riot of compromised words,
He was a prayer spat out across fingers.
He was a consonant, unpronouncable,
a compulsion that never existed-
He was a bowler hat, framed between two rails.
during the early hours of
eleven to four.
he was stubborn- he knew how to
treat a lady well but
realised waiting on people
wasn't an obligation.
I heard he found reconcilation
in chasing ghosts and
loving brittle things
he could not grasp.
I loved him from the day he left.
Absence fosters such
sentimental souls.
living hand to mouth on
our theoretical timezones,
two-liner niceties draw static-
I'm left to conversations with dial tones.
He was a missing thumb and forefinger,
He was a romance of misguided placebos.
He was a riot of compromised words,
He was a prayer spat out across fingers.
He was a consonant, unpronouncable,
a compulsion that never existed-
He was a bowler hat, framed between two rails.
Literature
Caffeine
Lately,
I hate the taste of coffee.
Even though I’d grown to love it.
I used to swear it wasn’t for me,
but then I started thinking that maybe I’d been missing out
by just ordering cookies at the coffee shop.
And I’d asked you,
“How have I gone without it for this long?”
It keeps me awake,
Smells like home,
and gives me a break to look forward to.
I liked it so much I even started drinking it
without sugar.
But now, as I sit here
forcefully sipping a mug
of mostly milk and syrup,
I wonder if the reason I’m hating the taste
is because the reason I liked it
was you.
Literature
Her Life
I saw her life in those eyes
with cut-throat stares
and withered looks of daze,
each lid half open
and their cores darted where
they thought it was safe.
Her pupils swirled as hurricanes
with streaks of rain
maroon across a razor blade.
Sharing what words can't speak
and luring in the
sting of the day.
I saw her life in that skin,
painted with a tiny needle that could
delve deeper in what she knew
and who she was, then what.
Like an apple tossed aside to rot
darted across were plum-hue stains
and beautiful scars, an abstract dance of
healing and hurt.
Covered in what she screamed,
her body was masked in poetry,
long-tol
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
Suggested Collections
Second draft.
Comments and critiques greatly appreciated.
(i) what did you like about it? is there any way this piece can be improved
(ii) what did you gather from this piece? any feelings evoked, any story told?
Comments and critiques greatly appreciated.
(i) what did you like about it? is there any way this piece can be improved
(ii) what did you gather from this piece? any feelings evoked, any story told?
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Comments8
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"I heard he found reconcilation
in chasing ghosts and
loving brittle things
he could not grasp.
I loved him from the day he left."
beautiful.
in chasing ghosts and
loving brittle things
he could not grasp.
I loved him from the day he left."
beautiful.