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Literature Text
Keeping us hanging from
the noose made of blank ideas
and undecided lives
polluted with garbage on how the world never grows
if that is so..
why force us to cover our feet
are they afraid of their defeat
afraid of losing the thrones
conquered by crushing the weakest throats?
WHY force us to wear these blindfolds
are they protecting us from what they
wish us not to see?
or am I wrong is there really
nothing to seek?
the noose made of blank ideas
and undecided lives
polluted with garbage on how the world never grows
if that is so..
why force us to cover our feet
are they afraid of their defeat
afraid of losing the thrones
conquered by crushing the weakest throats?
WHY force us to wear these blindfolds
are they protecting us from what they
wish us not to see?
or am I wrong is there really
nothing to seek?
Literature
Gone
It's like a punch in my gut
A hole in my throat
Cotton in my head
I can't seem to accept the reality
I see your grave
I sit in your empty chair
Watch as your room became just a memory
The old photos of us smiling
The memories of us laughing
The old songs we used to sing
It both haunts and comforts me
Life has never been easy
But now it'll be so much harder
Time became my enemy
Fooling me into believing I had so much more
Just turn the clock back
Rewind the tapes of those happy memories once more
Come back to me
Tell me it'll all be ok.
But there's a sting in my heart
And it reminds me you're gone
I know this pain will be with me always
How co
Literature
Farewell
Dear, Jessica.
Today Ronnie Childs died. Lucky me. The boys don’t want me to walk out and walk freee.
I can’t blame you for finally leaving me those months ago, but I know you too well.
You wouldn’t have ripped me from your heart, even though you should have. I don’t regret loving you, but letting you love me is the greatest sin.
Or second worst. The first was joining a gang.
I went numb as I ran out of things to care about.
Stopped caring about the taste of blood drawn in a fight, the bruises and cracked bones of my boys and myself, or what the other guys looked like.
Stopped caring about breaking into stores, robb
Literature
for Mids
your photos told stories
of the adventures you've
had - oh the places you
went!
your poems, more like
rants, had your voice
boom inside my mind,
echoing.
soon after you deleted your account,
I swore I would write to you...
but I never did, not as often as
I would have liked to, anyway.
next time I go out,
I'll take pictures
of flowers and 'scapes,
just for you, my friend.
next time I write a
poem, I will remember
how your words always
were full of volume.
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