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Literature Text
I live in a city of hypocrites
Perfect lies wrapped in perfection
People with no problems struggling within
People with problems that are fine
I know because I am one of them
How am I doing you ask
I'm fine my mouth says
And my heart screams to be heard
But once more I supress it
Once more I'll lie
Once more I'll pretend
Once more I'll play my part
But I'm not fine
I'm hurting
I'm shredded inside
My whitwashed tomb looks nice
But there are skeletons inside my closet
Just once I wish we would be honest
We would spill our hearts
We'd say whay we truly believe
We'd share it all with no fears
And someday I'll find someone I can share it all with
But until then I put another coat of paint on my perfect lie
Perfect lies wrapped in perfection
People with no problems struggling within
People with problems that are fine
I know because I am one of them
How am I doing you ask
I'm fine my mouth says
And my heart screams to be heard
But once more I supress it
Once more I'll lie
Once more I'll pretend
Once more I'll play my part
But I'm not fine
I'm hurting
I'm shredded inside
My whitwashed tomb looks nice
But there are skeletons inside my closet
Just once I wish we would be honest
We would spill our hearts
We'd say whay we truly believe
We'd share it all with no fears
And someday I'll find someone I can share it all with
But until then I put another coat of paint on my perfect lie
Literature
The Cycle, Pt. 1
A bright orbit starts the day,
Slowly opening my eyes from The Bed,
After a night of sleep and comfort.
Too much comfort.
Because I don't leave The Bed right away
(Like I know I should)
To start the day.
Time ticks but eventually I rise,
Accepting the loss of newfound comfort with
The Fan and The Blanket and The Pillow.
So I proceed to The Shower,
Different way of feeling cool than The Bed.
And yet here, I'm warmer and accept it.
Too much acceptance.
Because I don't leave The Shower right away,
(Like I know I should)
Already cleansed for the day.
Time ticks but eventually I step out,
Accepting the loss of newfound comfort with
The Warm and
Literature
Story
"Story"
Can you tell me the story?
I know it doesn't have a beginning
and you never mentioned an end
but I can't really believe
that there
ever was a playful middle
when the other two ends of that
long and heavy rope
could have been pulled taut.
I mean, really
the smell of foreign food
wafts through the window every night
how can you expect me to sleep
when there is that exotic tang
right in front of
my nose
just far enough where you pull me by a string
and I can step into a world where
everything is not the same.
Second person stories are not the same
you've got to be there
to feel there
to live there
to know there
you've got to smell t
Literature
Untitled
The sweet pineapple
Five hundred days to mature
Five minutes to eat
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Comments10
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I can definitely relate to this, but trust me finding someone to talk to will take a lot of patience.