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Literature Text
Lost in the legacy of dreams
The monster reunites with my soul
Will he ever go away
Or will I just sit here
Rot in a hole
Lost in a land of fantasy
Hoping to hide, run away
Lost in the past of tears and scars
Remaining here as a ghost
Run away from pride, it doesn't help to have it
Run away from the past, it destroys what it owns
Rotting in my sleep
Always waking in the middle of the night
My pleasure so meek
My mind so shattered like a broken glass bottle
Will the images ever cease
Or will the cannons keep up their fire
I remain lost the agony of my life
The worthless past I grew up with
A crybaby in the mirror
And a soldier of the fear
Eyes dry, never cry again
Lost in my memories of that broken old place
Forgotten by the raptors who continue to seek out their next prey
Lost in a hopeless world
I'm just trying to get by
All the suffering remains
Thought I washed it down the sink
Thought it was gone, but it likes the game tag
The sadistic personality chases me till I wake
Rotting in my dreams
I'm like a dead animal
I'm free from the house of slaughter
But only when awake
Whenever I sleep the dreams always take place
Always running from that distant land
Always hoping to forget their plans
But it resides in the back of my slumbering mind
In the pit of my white heart
My soul has shattered a thousand times over
And over again
Lost in a sea of distant agony
Always locked away in my mind
Always that fragile little boy
Trapped by my menacing thoughts
The monster reunites with my soul
Will he ever go away
Or will I just sit here
Rot in a hole
Lost in a land of fantasy
Hoping to hide, run away
Lost in the past of tears and scars
Remaining here as a ghost
Run away from pride, it doesn't help to have it
Run away from the past, it destroys what it owns
Rotting in my sleep
Always waking in the middle of the night
My pleasure so meek
My mind so shattered like a broken glass bottle
Will the images ever cease
Or will the cannons keep up their fire
I remain lost the agony of my life
The worthless past I grew up with
A crybaby in the mirror
And a soldier of the fear
Eyes dry, never cry again
Lost in my memories of that broken old place
Forgotten by the raptors who continue to seek out their next prey
Lost in a hopeless world
I'm just trying to get by
All the suffering remains
Thought I washed it down the sink
Thought it was gone, but it likes the game tag
The sadistic personality chases me till I wake
Rotting in my dreams
I'm like a dead animal
I'm free from the house of slaughter
But only when awake
Whenever I sleep the dreams always take place
Always running from that distant land
Always hoping to forget their plans
But it resides in the back of my slumbering mind
In the pit of my white heart
My soul has shattered a thousand times over
And over again
Lost in a sea of distant agony
Always locked away in my mind
Always that fragile little boy
Trapped by my menacing thoughts
Literature
Something's Wrong
I don't cut myself anymore. I haven't since last summer, when the sun was so blindingly bright it perforated through my curtains and stained my eyes.
The cuts were on one forearm, deep and red and angry, all the way from elbow to wrist. I'd sometimes leave the flesh exposed, and watched as curious eyes flickered from my face to arm as we spoke. No one ever asked.
When the arm was too sore to slice with scissors I'd scrape away at the paint and plaster on my walls. I'd carve deep shapes and lines like limbs from a tree, reaching out over my head and clutching at the window.
The walls are painted deep purple now. I sat for hours and filled i
Literature
Lost Song
I used to think myself grand in the face of the abstract.
I thought myself a poet, a knitter of words which together would create something like music to the eyes, drumming its rhythm in time with heartbeats and telling stories of love that almost was—of heartbreak that was very real at the time, and of thoughts that then seemed profound but—looking back—are laughable.
And I missed the words. They always seemed one step (or several steps—perhaps miles) ahead of me, and I wanted to run after them, to delve into their secrets and wade in their meanings. Alas, I was not worthy then, nor now, and whether or not I can eve
Literature
Lost
and with a ring of flowers
around your lovely head
I tell myself, "I'm halfway dead."
your chorus cries tune out my words
and our dances and lullabies
fly away, the birds.
It's an exaggeration,
if i may be so frank
to compare today to yesterday
but if the beats
still fit so right
maybe tomorrow
is tonight.
Cavity to our wholesome novel
and a terror makes us silently liable
we raise our voice to the route
we know must be followed
but the trail's so sharp,
The steps don't make the road.
with a canyon in your heart
and the nightlight downcast
that makes your breath a test
your chorus cries tune out my words
and our dances
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Something I started doing as of a few nights ago is keeping a sort of dream journal. Here is its first entry. I hope you all enjoy it, those of you who read my poems.
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This is really good