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Literature Text
Thoughts are lighter than air.
They are what we have
and think we’re missing
because it’s too hard
to go beyond the fact
that they haunt us—
or
‘another reason
for why we can’t
fly.’
But we both know each word
infected with love
has a soul,
a pinprick of light
too blinding &
too clear,
too echoingly hypnotic,
and evanescent.
And the ironic thing is
we remember them all,
in the sounds we can’t hear
but pulsate in our heads,
in the sleeplessness of waking dreams,
in the last drying rain
in the shades of shadows,
we remember them all.
At least that’s what I’ll say,
when you finally
forget me.
Literature
The Virus
the moon was indifferent
the sun didn't care
the birds sang out loudly
the people weren't there
the goats all roamed freely
the lonely dog barked
the street-lights blinked slowly
the cars were all parked
the dust had all settled
the air was now pure
the earth began healing
the virus was cured
Literature
Generation E
We are the generation of Escapists
Forget the Y, X, Z and call us E
Because we
Run away, deep inside
To our obsessive soliloquies and unreal networks
To distract ourselves from this artificial matrix
Of conventions, traditions, red tapes and mouth tapes
Superiors and deceiving exteriors
Interdictions and soothing fictions
And numb brain-dead masses
Call us the generation I for short
For we Imprison our voices
By imaginary choices
Run away, deep inside
To paint the town grey with Neurol and Lexaurin
Laugh at your death with Xanax or Rivotril
Silencing M&Ms to get you in a good place
Erase and replace to fit in, you disgrace!
Become a shell &
Literature
Her Impossible Question
He is smoking a cigarette.
Still damp from a shower and dressed in nothing but a sea-green bath towel: he has arranged himself on the covered radiator beneath the living room window. He sits here, from time to time: smoking, reading, watching the flow of lackluster drama stretched along the nearest segment of Wrigley Street. He sits here, from time to time, waiting for Nathaniel to get home from late, late nights at the studio. There is little to see now: only shadows and the motion of a breeze through maple leaves, sycamore leaves, and the sick, orange glare of electrocuted sodium vapor from the streetlamp just outside. He has opened the
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"There was a man who I once knew,
for me there was no other.
The closer to loving me he grew,
the more he would grow further."
the more he would grow further."
-Lang Leav
Inspired by Sigmund Freud's quote, "Where does a thought go when it's forgotten."
© 2015 - 2024 DSteffi
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