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Literature Text
I become the atmosphere,
horizons of multicolour solitude-
divided by crippling architecture,
defined by misguided eyes.
You dance like pollution,
along my vast oceans-
between my mountains,
I am the earth, the sun.
Your ghastly fumes consume me,
and time becomes deadly-
for oxygen becomes scarce,
and I'm burning slowly.
The tidewaters come and go
to wash away the wasteland
you created; I created-
we created.
horizons of multicolour solitude-
divided by crippling architecture,
defined by misguided eyes.
You dance like pollution,
along my vast oceans-
between my mountains,
I am the earth, the sun.
Your ghastly fumes consume me,
and time becomes deadly-
for oxygen becomes scarce,
and I'm burning slowly.
The tidewaters come and go
to wash away the wasteland
you created; I created-
we created.
Literature
Feel
Sand beneath your feet
You walk but do not see
Hide between the trees
Feeling nothing but the cool breeze
Literature
Silence Kills
I don't want to know me,
I don't want to make a sound.
Let's pretend I've stopped existing
and start breaking ground.
You can dig this hole for me,
even though I'm nowhere to be found.
You are the only one who can finish this,
though I'll never admit you were the only one keeping me around.
I don't want to hurt you anymore,
so go ahead and put me to rest.
Let's bury my body
and put denial to the test.
Who is this girl you knew?
Where is she?
She drowned on her own words
and now you're free.
Look me in the eye
as you lower me down.
I'll never stop being the one
who let you drown.
Forget me
for I'll not make a sound.
Literature
Why do I care when she doesn't talk to me?
Why do I care when she doesn't talk to me? It's not like it matters, it's not like it's hurting me...
Well, no, maybe that isn't true. It is hurting me. Why does it hurt me? It shouldn't matter that she isn't talking to me. It's not a big deal. It's not like she's ignoring me...
What if she's ignoring me? Is she ignoring me? She tells me she's busy. I believe her I really do, but there's always this part of me that tells me I'm just annoying. Why would someone want to talk to me? I'm not good enough...
I'm never good enough. I push myself, put so much pressure on myself. People tell me I'm good at things, but I can't see it. I can't belie
Suggested Collections
I kinda like this one.
Comments1
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Its beautiful, yet sad