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Literature Text
She, who he now inhales,
has bloomed and flourished.
He appreciates the caring hands that had tended her so well,
for he prefers his flowers well nourished.
He had come to her every day since the pretty bud had caught his eye,
watching in fascination as she blossomed and thrived.
Unhappy was he, when the bees began to hover;
and so he actioned what he had at first glance derived.
Plucked from her bed and cut from her roots,
her beauty now adorns his house of shade.
And although she will indeed suffer until his clumsy hands come to crush,
never will she suffer the fate to wilt and fade.
has bloomed and flourished.
He appreciates the caring hands that had tended her so well,
for he prefers his flowers well nourished.
He had come to her every day since the pretty bud had caught his eye,
watching in fascination as she blossomed and thrived.
Unhappy was he, when the bees began to hover;
and so he actioned what he had at first glance derived.
Plucked from her bed and cut from her roots,
her beauty now adorns his house of shade.
And although she will indeed suffer until his clumsy hands come to crush,
never will she suffer the fate to wilt and fade.
Literature
Latreuophobia
I wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Literature
I Belong To You
I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another co
Literature
how to become a writer
have parents that separate
when you’re in high school;
a father filled with unused anger
and a mother too busy to care.
pretend it doesn’t hurt.
let your friends treat you
like dirt;
after all,
everything is your fault.
listen to their problems with a fake smile
all the while crying out because
everything hurts and no one can see.
press a knife to your skin,
but be too cowardly to
draw your own blood.
fall in love with people
who could never notice you,
because you’re
just. not. good.
enough.
chew on the multicolored
strands of your hair.
(you can’t stop runni
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Comments1
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This is brilliant!