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Literature Text
Things are said that we don't mean
Hope is found and power filled
All from that one little lie
Deep inside, the spirit's killed
Know the pain that lies inside
Hide it all from prying eyes
Hold it close, keep it still
Piece by piece, the spirit dies
One can live with a broken heart
Carry on no matter the cost
But once the spirit breaks and fades
Everything else is surely lost
Feel the fear and sense of loss
When trust is broken, what's the cost
Betrayed and shattered and left to die
Beyond redemption, a soul is lost
Hope is found and power filled
All from that one little lie
Deep inside, the spirit's killed
Know the pain that lies inside
Hide it all from prying eyes
Hold it close, keep it still
Piece by piece, the spirit dies
One can live with a broken heart
Carry on no matter the cost
But once the spirit breaks and fades
Everything else is surely lost
Feel the fear and sense of loss
When trust is broken, what's the cost
Betrayed and shattered and left to die
Beyond redemption, a soul is lost
Literature
Glass
At some point,
I stopped making eye contact.
I'm not sure how it happened
or why. I'm not sure if it's
some reflection of my
latent insecurities or
undeserved superiorities or
quiet anxieties.
But I am sure that
I miss the fleeting connection
on trains, buses, and sidewalks.
I miss the shape and color and
glint of golden gleam that used
to strike out across crowds at me.
My mother, my best friend, my lover -
what mysteries do I miss? What
is hidden in their second glances and
lingering stares?
I don't know because, at some point,
I stopped making eye contact,
even with the girl in the mirror.
Literature
breathing never felt so wrong
i wouldn't mind b r e a t h i n g
if it didn't involve f e e l i n g.
Literature
On Wanting Everything to Be Right
You got too comfortable,
forgot he could make mistakes,
and set your consciousness aside
so he could mend the thoughts
which have remained disordered
in your fumbling sobriety,
despite the years of learning to cope
with the pace of regularity:
scraping the mailbox with his key,
dining out every Sunday,
setting the thermostat to sixty degrees,
and changing despite every effort
to remain apathetic about his plans,
how your name became a constant
in his living equations,
the variable which defined the function.
On the morning you leave,
only your luggage and body will move
through the summer shadows
of oak leaves shaking in a breeze,
and on
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Meh. What a night it was...this kinda puts into perspective what I felt while I was talking to a friend of mine awhile back. I'm better than I was then but still a little low now and then.
Kani
Kani
© 2012 - 2024 Ardikani4
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I really love this one... it has some kind of magic