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Literature Text
Your strawberry-flavored lips
Are overripe and decomposing
In such a hurried pace
I can already hear the buzzing
Of the fruit flies gathering about us.
You carry a bottle of your favorite
Perfume in your vanity bag
It helps masquerade
The scent of your disease,
Making it so much easier for me
To swallow and digest all of your lies.
I’ve seen my future in your eyes
And it was black as a sunless morning.
In that future I commit suicide
And you move along to infect the next
Man in line after consuming
The spoiled remains of my broken heart.
Are overripe and decomposing
In such a hurried pace
I can already hear the buzzing
Of the fruit flies gathering about us.
You carry a bottle of your favorite
Perfume in your vanity bag
It helps masquerade
The scent of your disease,
Making it so much easier for me
To swallow and digest all of your lies.
I’ve seen my future in your eyes
And it was black as a sunless morning.
In that future I commit suicide
And you move along to infect the next
Man in line after consuming
The spoiled remains of my broken heart.
Literature
Days
There were days when I got lost behind the moons eyes, the suns smiles, and the clouds tears.
Days where the wind crept up from behind and whipped my hair around my neck suffocating me.
There were days when I got lost within the days light and the nights dark.
The stars were painted black like my heart disappearing, blending into nothingness.
There were days I drowned in the waters depths, and lived inside concrete walls.
Meshing together light and dark; becoming one.
There were days my body was weak from fighting, my mind strong from cartwheel thoughts racing.
My mind running a marathon as my body
Literature
Pain
Hangs from your spine
like an incomplete, conjoined sibling
with no mind of its own
but enough of yours to make you fear it.
Comes when you are sleeping
to perch on your face and dip its beak
redly into your dreams.
Shucks its claws
on the upholstery of your flesh.
Is a fog-eyed poet, reading aloud to you
endless reams of his own passionate,
excruciating verse.
Squats in the waste it has made of you,
a basilisk-child
you dare not look in the eye.
Remembers the body when it moved
with the ease of light across a lakes delicate skin.
Watches your babies grow
skins so thick they cant feel you.
Is an illusion
overcome
Literature
In Reverse
13.
Jesus flew over the city today.
He cast a dark shadow upon our bleak and childish faces
and the now dark towers that surround us in the midst of this town.
I usually never notice his presence;
the yearly autumn rush mixed with the lingering summer sun overpowers him, fixing my focus to inhaling as much of those last sweet August scents as possible, knowing that as soon as we let go of them, we'll forget what they feel like
for twelve agonizing months. I know it should never be like that.
Such trivial things overpowering the shadow of God's son,
his breath lost in the smell of honeysuckle, his shadow in the early September sun
Suggested Collections
some mornings are black
© 2009 - 2024 Jaime-kendrick
Comments51
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Sorry I got to this one so late. In retrospect, it is pretty freaking awesome! Nice work, man.