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Literature Text
You won't remember what pleasure is, if that's all you feel. Sometimes, you need pain to remember what it is to be real.
In order to feel truly alive, you must first taste the bitterness of death. Emotional or physical; inches away from being eternally at rest.
Happiness would not be that, without first shedding tears. Watch those silver drops fall, containing all your fears.
Feel these emotions, the good and the bad. Do not let them claim you though; you will regret that you had.
Feel then, my dear. Feel these things, always. Because all too soon you'll find yourself turning in your grave.
In order to feel truly alive, you must first taste the bitterness of death. Emotional or physical; inches away from being eternally at rest.
Happiness would not be that, without first shedding tears. Watch those silver drops fall, containing all your fears.
Feel these emotions, the good and the bad. Do not let them claim you though; you will regret that you had.
Feel then, my dear. Feel these things, always. Because all too soon you'll find yourself turning in your grave.
Literature
Skeletons
I blindfolded them,
stuffed cotton into their eardrums,
gagged them with foul-flavored cloth,
wrapped twine round their wrists,
but still they called to me.
I drew x's on their eyes,
disconnected their ear ossicles,
cut out their tongues,
handcuffed their wrists and ankles,
but still they called to me.
I stitched their eyelids closed,
smashed their hammers/anvils/stirrups,
forced opium-laced handkerchiefs between their jaws,
wrapped cords around their throats,
and still they called to me.
Secrets
they aren't silent.
There
is no quiet, no peace,
are
too many unsaid words.
No
more is the closet door shut,
monsters
Literature
If you'll forget
Have you ever watched raindrops on a pane of glass? They glide and eventually submerge into other raindrops and the more tears collide, the faster they fall until eventually they seep away.
That is life.
You are still until a single drop splashes on your head; you begin your slow walk downhill. Then drops and drops, big and small, come crashing and running. Crashing and running and shoving you downhill until you break your crown.
These are the "obstacles" in life. The traumas, the unluckies, the people, the horrors, the words, the fists, the illnesses, the stories these are the things that will kill you.
There is a heaviness
Literature
Panic Attack
What's this?
What fragile thing,
a bird with wings,
has replaced my heart?
Don't die, little bird.
Out of breath, out of time...
This is how we die.
This is how we die.
Struggle in your cage,
fight against the bars --
they tighten, they tighten,
and you weaken.
Don't die, little bird.
Out of breath, out of time...
This is how we die.
This is how we die.
And this frightened thing
with fragile wings
frantically flutters
faster until it slows.
Don't die, little bird...
Out of bre
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Comments13
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I really agree with this!