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Literature Text
It stares at me in the mirror
What i always despised
Everything I always hated
It's all there
Guilt, pain, perverted soul
Why does it look back at me?
Whats this monster that I've created?
It seems I created my own destroyer
The end of me stares at me
It holds my gaze without flinching
It stares at me with such disdain
It hates me for the hurt and the pain
I'm the scientist and creator
He's the product and offspring
My choices stare at me and scream
They rush for me to tear me to shreds
They'll try and turn back time
Maybe there's still hope
Maybe the monster will implode
I turn and run from it
The monster in the mirror.
What i always despised
Everything I always hated
It's all there
Guilt, pain, perverted soul
Why does it look back at me?
Whats this monster that I've created?
It seems I created my own destroyer
The end of me stares at me
It holds my gaze without flinching
It stares at me with such disdain
It hates me for the hurt and the pain
I'm the scientist and creator
He's the product and offspring
My choices stare at me and scream
They rush for me to tear me to shreds
They'll try and turn back time
Maybe there's still hope
Maybe the monster will implode
I turn and run from it
The monster in the mirror.
Literature
sleepy
I WANT TO GET DRUNK
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
Their Story
Oh, phoenix boy.
Your story is fuelled by smoke and words,
feasting on dehydrated love.
Stolen gasps sprout from your spine
stretched to the rings of Saturn.
He wears his skin all back to front.
Oh, sparrow girl.
Your story is awkwardly stitched together,
stewing in sordid thoughts.
You are violent serenity in a wisp of a girl
dancing through the nighttime sea.
She wears her bones all inside out
Buried beneath her
sparrow skin and
his phoenix flames it lies.
Woven from grains of sand,
These bruises are constellations.
Delighted in catatonic embrace.
So the phoenix boy
and the
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