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Literature Text
addiction.
a-d-d-i-c-t-i-o-n.
she scribbles the word into her
left hand, ties it to a heartstring
and flyflyflies it like a kite.
her eyes are a powdery-blue tear
stained mess. she can`t take more
steps. quiet words crawl up to her
and enter her skin through her toes,
she is a mess.
her routine is simple. broken,
fixed, broken, fixed. lose more
pieces of yourself. break again.
be fixed by pretty words that
promise you no more hurting
and you`re okay, and i love you
and am not going to lose you.
"stop."
she can`t. she is pushpushed and
keeps up her running. the words
dry her mouth, and her fingertips
are tired and
she feels worn down, but she feels
like she is not doing enough.
"stop."
powder blue runs through her. through
hair, and oceans that run underneath
paper skin, and eyes, of course. powder
blue leaks out of her and turns red,
and clear, and rainbow, and sunshine.
she falls into routine, again. cry, stop,
cry, stop, cry. she hates routine. she
hates everytimes. she is tired of agains,
and of misunderstandings.
she can`t get enough of her brokenbroken
drug. she is tired of it.
"addiction." she whispers to a particular
nobody. "i`m not addicted to anything, except
for you. why do you keep doing this? my eyes
are running out of blue. my underskin pipes are
running out of blue. all you want is my
blueblueblue.
i am not a colour. i am not your plaything.
now come here and hold me."
a-d-d-i-c-t-i-o-n.
she scribbles the word into her
left hand, ties it to a heartstring
and flyflyflies it like a kite.
her eyes are a powdery-blue tear
stained mess. she can`t take more
steps. quiet words crawl up to her
and enter her skin through her toes,
she is a mess.
her routine is simple. broken,
fixed, broken, fixed. lose more
pieces of yourself. break again.
be fixed by pretty words that
promise you no more hurting
and you`re okay, and i love you
and am not going to lose you.
"stop."
she can`t. she is pushpushed and
keeps up her running. the words
dry her mouth, and her fingertips
are tired and
she feels worn down, but she feels
like she is not doing enough.
"stop."
powder blue runs through her. through
hair, and oceans that run underneath
paper skin, and eyes, of course. powder
blue leaks out of her and turns red,
and clear, and rainbow, and sunshine.
she falls into routine, again. cry, stop,
cry, stop, cry. she hates routine. she
hates everytimes. she is tired of agains,
and of misunderstandings.
she can`t get enough of her brokenbroken
drug. she is tired of it.
"addiction." she whispers to a particular
nobody. "i`m not addicted to anything, except
for you. why do you keep doing this? my eyes
are running out of blue. my underskin pipes are
running out of blue. all you want is my
blueblueblue.
i am not a colour. i am not your plaything.
now come here and hold me."
Literature
nervosa.
an empty girl with
empty eyes
and a sandpaper
smile.
her meals never
stop
because they never
really
begin.
the mirror defies
her thin wrists
and ankles
and suddenly,
she's not hungry
anymore.
Literature
Suspire
She bites her tongue in self-disgust as she traces the words "I love you" down her arm compulsively, (she no longer knows how to say anything else) and runs his white shirt sleeve across her lower lip to wipe away the blood.
It's 3 hours until midnight and she's watching them,
in her bed.
*
There's still a thin film of dust layered across her skin from when he brushed the ashes of her citadel off his shoulder. She knows there's no putting the pieces back together again, not with the smell of his cologne in her nose. Her mosaic walls a soft powder beneath her feet. She doesn't try.
She walks.
*
The cliffs of Ireland cannot win against t
Literature
stained rainbows.
b. you are worth more than
mannequins in shopping
windows; stained hearts and
ruined fairytales.
a. maybe there is
someone that sells
love in pretty bottles
that dont break when
they are dropped.
and maybe we will find him,
someday.
i. i always thought
light was amazing;
the way it only needs
a prism
to be turned into
rainbows.
(it reminds me
so much
of you.)
l. lets see how far
our hearts
can make it
running on
empty.
e. why do
people always try to
fly? why dont
they ever try to
fall?
lets try
falling, shall we?
y. you
make me feel like
i am worth
something.
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