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Literature Text
"this broken doll used to have life, you know," she murmured, staring at him.
he stared back, searching. searching for the girl he loved.
"i know, but .. was it stolen ? or was it simply just given away ?"
he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, away from her face.
"i think it was stolen, but nobody ever tried to take it back."
x x x
she only remembers the dark
when all the lights were turned off
and the cold skin against hers
"why are you doing this?" she trembled
a pause.
a silence.
she only wished it stayed like that.
"i don't know."
x x x
she sits on a stool
listening to the song of a music box until it stops
and staring at rainbows until they fade away
he brings her sugar cubes
and re-winds her music box
"come back to me, soon."
he stared back, searching. searching for the girl he loved.
"i know, but .. was it stolen ? or was it simply just given away ?"
he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, away from her face.
"i think it was stolen, but nobody ever tried to take it back."
x x x
she only remembers the dark
when all the lights were turned off
and the cold skin against hers
"why are you doing this?" she trembled
a pause.
a silence.
she only wished it stayed like that.
"i don't know."
x x x
she sits on a stool
listening to the song of a music box until it stops
and staring at rainbows until they fade away
he brings her sugar cubes
and re-winds her music box
"come back to me, soon."
Literature
makeshifts and shooting stars
dear diary,
if my calculations are correct,
this is day 24.
24.
the number of circles i've walked
around sky-scraping hopes
in worn-down shoes
filled with sand and salt.
24.
the number of makeshifts
i have learned to make from things
that once washed up on the shore
(just like me).
24.
the number of songs
stuck in my head
that prevent me from
hearing the ocean.
24.
the number of stars i count
before falling asleep.
i look up at the sky
and catch myself wishing upon every shooting star
that it's actually a man-made airplane,
coming to save me.
Literature
falling.
he told me:
when i think of falling,
i think of comets and
insomnia and midnight
rushes of emotions and
breaking down just to feel
something
again. he told me
when i think of falling,
i think of you.
but this is okay, because
falling things cannot be
stopped, and
.
you have always been the most
beautiful in a quiet way, like how
the moon outshines the sun, and you
have dreams like uncut glass,
waiting to be shaped or dropped or
maybe both and
you promise you won't let me
break
but i think, i think that maybe
.
i already have and you can't
undo the past and there's no point
in trying and
.
you are the kind of dream
Literature
balance beams.
one.
it is three a.m.
and even the crickets are
sleeping. the only sounds
are the commercials on t.v.
and the soft noise of my
breathing.
it is three a.m.
and my night light is broken
and it is too dark, too
quiet, and there is a monster
in my heart and
he won't go away.
two.
just so you know:
i named the monster
after you.
three.
i dreamed that we were
in a cave, black and blue. there was
a bottomless lake full of hope
and unwanted memories, and
we were
running, screaming, searching
for an exit
only to find
that there wasn't one.
four.
i spend my life on balance beams,
and
i can only try
not to fall off.
five.
Suggested Collections
he remembers the days
when they would drink tea
and watch things fall from the sky
(rain, snow, sunshine . . )
and her laugh would be the brightest thing
ever.
the image is of my eye, and the dust in my hair reminded me of this poem.
when they would drink tea
and watch things fall from the sky
(rain, snow, sunshine . . )
and her laugh would be the brightest thing
ever.
the image is of my eye, and the dust in my hair reminded me of this poem.
© 2009 - 2024 unstellastique
Comments12
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This is beautiful. I needed some good poetry. You are very talented. ^_^