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Literature Text
If a demon heard an angel sing from above,
And an angel and a demon fell in love,
Once they answer to passion's call,
Does the demon rise or the angel fall?
And though they may love in the truest way,
Where in heaven, hell or Earth could they stay?
Hunted by those who can't understand and those who refuse
And soon, so soon, they would have to choose
Between loving together, or saving each other's souls
And be left with a grief that could not be consoled.
Forever they would wander, longing for the other's embrace,
And wanting nothing more than to see their lover's face.
Their doomed love would destroy them, it would tear them apart
And they would slowly bleed to death
from broken hearts.
And an angel and a demon fell in love,
Once they answer to passion's call,
Does the demon rise or the angel fall?
And though they may love in the truest way,
Where in heaven, hell or Earth could they stay?
Hunted by those who can't understand and those who refuse
And soon, so soon, they would have to choose
Between loving together, or saving each other's souls
And be left with a grief that could not be consoled.
Forever they would wander, longing for the other's embrace,
And wanting nothing more than to see their lover's face.
Their doomed love would destroy them, it would tear them apart
And they would slowly bleed to death
from broken hearts.
Literature
Kiss Me Bloody
Kiss me bloody.
Kiss me raw.
Slap me around.
Kick my jaw.
Kiss me stupid.
Kiss me sweet.
Cut my chest open.
Red lines so neat.
Kiss me stoned.
Kiss me bruised.
With a baseball bat.
Or steel toed boots.
Kiss me deadly.
Kiss me silent.
Kiss me secret.
Kiss me violent.
Kiss me lovely.
Treat me right.
Slit my throat.
Kiss me goodnight.
Literature
Poets have the loneliest hearts.
I drink morphine
like peach tea;
down 6 pills by morning
just to keep my mind
filled up
with nothing.
& I know I can go days
without speaking a word
but-
I want a moon shy girl
with wolves at her back,
bite mark ankles &
a bottle of writer’s tears
tucked under one arm.
I want to be end of the war
kisses bruised into her hipbones;
the epilogue written over her
tiger-striped skin.
With these wisteria limbs
February cold, &
these weak lungs
exhaling coralline whispers,
I’ve got a tongue for words
but still have no idea how to love
a universe girl.
Literature
Dear Poetry,
I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers
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I'm pretty proud of this right now this is one of the only things I have written in over a month! Maybe, just maybe, my writer's block is over.
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Comments28
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I'm sorry, but this reminds me of Good Omens. I'm probably missing the point.