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Literature Text
wrap me around your finger
like a telephone cord
twist me and stretch me
until it feels like i might break
then
let
me
go
and i spring back into place
as if nothing ever happened
a smile plastered across my face
hiding the cracks beneath
and i'll find that the words
that spill from my mouth
are just numbers disguised as letters
they're lies and nothing more
and somehow
everyone believes me
and i slip right back into your eager hands
ready to be twisted
and stretched
until i finally break
like a telephone cord
twist me and stretch me
until it feels like i might break
then
let
me
go
and i spring back into place
as if nothing ever happened
a smile plastered across my face
hiding the cracks beneath
and i'll find that the words
that spill from my mouth
are just numbers disguised as letters
they're lies and nothing more
and somehow
everyone believes me
and i slip right back into your eager hands
ready to be twisted
and stretched
until i finally break
maybe it's time you take a look at the real world
instead of reading numbers on a screen
and hearing messages from yesterday
Literature
Death Mirror
How carefully we must breech that gentle subject
and aborne understanding on the things we fear.
Else we drown in our own darkness,
like a human voice attempting to call over the hoof beats,
asking a herd of buffalo to stop their stampede.
Death will always be a subject worth calling out to,
but some of us will fill it with things we believe
instead of the things we see.
The way a culture views death reflects a society's morals,
and the same fashion;
the way we tell ghost stories at a campfire
reveals
Literature
Don't Think About Tomorrow
They take one look and they scream,
they cry, they stamp their feet and beg,
so with hands made of bone, you grab
the edges of yourself and you pull,
struggle into the resisting flesh
and the smile you pinch your lips into
is just enough to make them leave.
Thank god. You can take it off now.
Literature
What's in a name?
You take my name and
snap it like a wrist bone.
Crack the consonants
over your tongue
until the vowels lay limply
in your mouth.
Bone shards. The letters
fall half-dead at your feet.
I cradle them in my lap,
sobbing their sounds as if
I could scream life into them again.
As if echoing their mutilated syllables
would make me belong to myself again.
You have my blood on your fingers.
You have my blood on your fingers
but you simply wipe it off on your pant leg.
Suggested Collections
The theme was telephone cord. I kinda like this one.
Anyway, I hope you're all having a nice day!
Anyway, I hope you're all having a nice day!
© 2018 - 2024 TheseWingsofDarkness
Comments15
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wow I really love this!! the digital theme is there throughout the whole poem without ever becoming too much! kind of reflects the world of online/digital relationships we live in, which I think is really cool!