literature

. in these .

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Literature Text

more and more ice,
drowning.

(there’s a bath, it’s dark)


chasing monsters in dreams,
tracing footprints,
playing with blood,
cleaning streets,
picking flowers,
structuring until worlds of a play unfold before me,
under the bed covers

(there’s a pulse, they cry, footsteps vibrating, leaving, rushing, panicking)

and I, and I’m—

I’m trying to speak in words that make sense,
in secrets and sentences that don’t blur with difficulty
in gestures that don’t shake and crash down, jerking like those electrified.

maybe I’m dying,
but I don’t think I’m scared.
oh dude this is from January 6th, I wrote it then and found it now.
© 2009 - 2024 Stargem-kitty
Comments2
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fireflycities's avatar
=D
*feeds the comment hunger*
so
this is gorgeous!
"chasing monsters in dreams,
tracing footprints,
playing with blood,"
my favorite part
it reminds me of life flashing before the eyes
but it's good and bad at once, like...there's no desire to relive it because it's futile.
if that made any sense whatsoever =]