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Literature Text
like a rusted tin box,
I opened myself before you
[hesitantly, reluctantly]
and you did not flinch away
your hands ran slowly
over my surfaces
[gently, kindly]
until I glowed like burnished
bronze in your hands
and I will love you
[without condition]
forever
I opened myself before you
[hesitantly, reluctantly]
and you did not flinch away
your hands ran slowly
over my surfaces
[gently, kindly]
until I glowed like burnished
bronze in your hands
and I will love you
[without condition]
forever
Literature
Preguntas
Preguntas
What comes next is a kind of answer -
an uncoiling of sounds something like marrow
seeping from a voice asleep by the river
where green bands of parrots press
to eat the salty earth - a voice under the roots
of a walking palm, speaking its whispers
about Neruda and how Neruda will
make a voice pregnant with questions
hidden as the nest of the yellow bird
and the life of bones. The mouth goes
numb; a bottle falls. Two horses move away
into mountain shadow, walking the quiet
of the stony slopes. Is there nobody
here? Is there still nobody here?
Literature
Thinking
Thinking
Thinking is painful.
If it is thinking of you,
it's unbearable.
Literature
The Illusion of You
The Illusion of You
This vision you have crafted,
For all the world to see,
It exists inside your own mind,
It has no basis in reality
You think...
That what you feel is true
But I know that it's not,
I've seen the real you
Living a lie,
When inside you've died,
All of it done,
In the name of pride
You choose to sanctify...
You!
The illusion of you,
That we see,
Has cracked on the surface,
And it bleeds,
All the years away...
This illusion of you,
That you need,
Has so many holes!
And yet you wonder why...
No-one believes...
In the illusion of you...
The words you say,
Have no place,
In this day and age,
And yet y
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Comments49
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this is beautiful <3