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Literature Text
My fingernails mangle
the mottled wax
shell. Citrine sap
caresses each bulge
as I lick away
mattress-foam veins.
My teeth pop polyps
and shred cellophane skin.
If only everything
could be this sweet.
the mottled wax
shell. Citrine sap
caresses each bulge
as I lick away
mattress-foam veins.
My teeth pop polyps
and shred cellophane skin.
If only everything
could be this sweet.
Literature
Flowers on the Razorwire
We could never fashion flight from our broken boned epiphanies
(Or raise our shattered glasses to the red on her lips)
But anaemic as horses we parade them through these streets
Revolution is nothing but progress here
Perched on razorwire fences
Birds give names to ghosts and raise them as their own
Truth is a figment of your imagination
And the telephone is the wire around your neck
Hung up with wishes across the grand suburbia
Our zeitgeist is a harlot
She teaches us that duty justifies submission. It doesn't
There is salt in the street but the banks are empty
From weeping like the chorus torn from our lungs
We never quite gra
Literature
No Longer Anonymous
No longer can I remain anonymous, just another girl checking in for her doctor's appointment. The moment I tell them the visit is to be billed to the state, and present this voucher, which might as well be painted in bright red blood, dripping and leaving a breadcrumb trail for all, with a neon sign that reads "sexual assault," I become that girl.
I see the way their eyes change. I see how they look at me. The hardness of the day, painted in the lines on their face, softens, just a bit. Their eyes, normally cold and focused, now try to melt my heart with their temporary concern.
I sit in the waiti
Literature
November Cold
November sinks its icy fingers
Between my shoulder blades
And an ache blossoms inside of me.
I imagine a lacy white filigree of frost
Growing over my lungs,
Spidering over my veins
And up into my heart.
The cold crawls up my throat
So that when I breathe
I half expect snowflakes and hoarfrost
To fall from my lips.
I've got an ice-heavy heart in me
And I am breathing winter,
Wondering if my tears would freeze
If they even fell at all.
Help me shake November's chill.
Blaze passion and fire into me
And never let me pull away from the heat of you
Kiss away the rime of ice that coats me
Sink your fingers into my skin
So
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Good oranges are hard to come by this time of year....
A couple questions...
1. Do the lines flow?
2. Do the descriptions make sense?
3. Does the last line work?
for #theWrittenRevolution[link]
A couple questions...
1. Do the lines flow?
2. Do the descriptions make sense?
3. Does the last line work?
for #theWrittenRevolution[link]
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Your fantastic work has been featured here!
I'd really appreciate it if you could give some love to the other featured pieces and the journal!
I'd really appreciate it if you could give some love to the other featured pieces and the journal!