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Literature
truth is, I don't wanna love you.
Is it really fear?
Till my blood runs silver, pure mercury.
I know little of coherency.
-
Today feels like chalk and phlegm and pheromones.
I remain a retching mound of meat.
An undulating mass of muscles and organs.
-
When I thought of you I thought of flesh.
Sensation and numbness,
breathing while holding my breath
alive but always dead
-
I saw red, maraschino streaks.
Lines of flamingo pink creased across the surface.
Then I thought of flesh and blood and feeling
and for a second,
I couldn't hate you.
-
Is this fear?
Literature
Heartfelt
At birth
my heart
was
undelivered,
never whole
nothing but
separated
parts.
I might
have hoped
that you
could have
fused disparity,
between us
There might
have been
the chance
of creating
at last a
singularity
We might
share.
Literature
To Him, With Love
intimacy is airing out
those facts you have held
against yourself,
allowing someone else
to draw his own conclusions about
your vain pursuits of existence.
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© 2012 - 2024 Favriel
Comments17
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how fractal!... ;-}