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Literature Text
Wings erupt from their casing,
A transparent gold-rimmed shell.
Small, wet petals
blossom into fiery wings
that leave trails of ash across fingertips,
charcoal stains on outstretched hands.
They burn across the landscape,
flocking in fiery clouds over fields.
Their crepe paper wings carry them onward
like small kites drifting on the breeze.
Shedding cells and color
for 2,000 wind-beaten miles.
Literature
the dead parade
what, perchance, did you think I had returned to this page for?
sweet lullabies, tender remembrances?
just who the fuck did you think you were talking to?
my brother died the other day
choking on his own damn self
on heroin and heart attack and too many motherfucking years done
we were all there, some in spirit
some in flesh
it don’t get no more real than that, don’t give a damn where you from
but once you walk through that gate
ain’t no coming back
didn’t your momma teach you nothing?
when you got women pulling up your shirtsleeves looking for a tattoo
something to memorialize you by
that ain’t a swastika or bol
Literature
aftermath
this morning my heart woke
me up to tell me you're taking
your piece with you when you go,
tugging at the distance as your
plane left the runway and i wrenched into
the darkness you left me for and i swore
i could see the stars falling down around me
the minute i said your name and it echoed,
my god, the syllables sunk deep into the pit
of my stomach and rested there like seeds,
watered by the nights i spent telling what was left
of me to forget all of you while my insides
tried to figure out how to be less, necessarily
it never worked. it never does when you
treat hearts like candy bars, like pieces
you deserve to break off
Literature
A Gentler Truth
I long for a gentler truth. Some reason, some hope, for why tragic ensues. Some God who could hear me, but all that I am is some forgotten little shell in the sand as the ocean swallows these billion living crabs and I'm just an afterthought of a serious plan so I want to be crushed by the weight of the land. By the thoughts of the wicked. By the evil inside. Please don't become what my body finds. You can flee from a ghost. You can flee from a home. To flee from yourself is an unfading chokehold. I look forward to the day my life drains away I see why Christianity believes demons are made. I'd rather have a deadly bounty Then this self-set hatred about me. That way I could let the assassin set in Instead of letting my own self-hatred win. I'd bloodlet these thoughts, bleed the evil away I'd heal and I'd heal though the wind and decay. I'd watch the sun rise and blind my own way. I'd vomit vaccine until nothing remained. I'd scrub myself clean till nothing could stay. I'd bleach out
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Spectacle/image poem for my poetry course. Some of the feedback was helpful; some critiques were taken with a grain of salt.
© 2012 - 2024 projectilewordvomit
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