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Literature Text
She brushed her fairy-floss hair,
Pursed her lips, red as stolen roses,
And asked the mirror, "Am I beautiful?"
The mirror didn't answer.
Her ring read "Sinner",
And if love was a sin, she was the devil.
All she wanted was a velvet-soft man,
With bright beaten-silver eyes.
The gold-edging of her vanity,
Glinted against the gloss of her nails.
These claws could grasp anything.
She's a diamond leopard,
Fierce queen of a terrace jungle.
Her prince was a bottleneck vagrant,
Brown stovepipe pants and wool cap.
His kingdom was built from green glass,
Still picking up his leather boots on that street.
He left his battered old paperback,
In the corner of the alley where he slept.
Letters to a young poet for a fortunate son.
He walked to the factory once again.
She lived with him in absinthe dreams,
A perfect pauper in poppy-scented smoke.
But beautiful dreams will always end,
As she rolls over and pulls silk sheets closer,
The queen of a cold castle.
Pursed her lips, red as stolen roses,
And asked the mirror, "Am I beautiful?"
The mirror didn't answer.
Her ring read "Sinner",
And if love was a sin, she was the devil.
All she wanted was a velvet-soft man,
With bright beaten-silver eyes.
The gold-edging of her vanity,
Glinted against the gloss of her nails.
These claws could grasp anything.
She's a diamond leopard,
Fierce queen of a terrace jungle.
Her prince was a bottleneck vagrant,
Brown stovepipe pants and wool cap.
His kingdom was built from green glass,
Still picking up his leather boots on that street.
He left his battered old paperback,
In the corner of the alley where he slept.
Letters to a young poet for a fortunate son.
He walked to the factory once again.
She lived with him in absinthe dreams,
A perfect pauper in poppy-scented smoke.
But beautiful dreams will always end,
As she rolls over and pulls silk sheets closer,
The queen of a cold castle.
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Literature
Kiss me.
There's something in the pale placid blue of your eyes
Watching grey tendrils fade into a dark night
As they leap from the soft red embers
Perched at the end of an off brand cigarette.
"Everyone wants to be beautiful," you say,
Letting the words drip from the tarnished silver of your tongue
And slide down the makeup caked on your jaw
To lie in pools like nightsoil on street corners
Stiffened by winter winds and carelessness.
"You are beautiful," I say,
But the words ring a haunting hollow,
A single breath in a stillborn sea of wasted breaths,
Some shining schoolgirl promise
After a dozen deafened seasons have spun each other ro
Literature
Dreams
At first, I had many dreams:
Of flying, of shining,
Of smiling and laughing.
I wanted to bring peace;
I wanted to bring love;
And make my voice heard.
But nobody listened,
Nobody cared.
Everyone laughed,
Threw me aside,
And buried any memory of me.
Now, I just want to be happy.
Literature
i.
1. They tell me you had a story once, but sometimes
I find that hard to believe. When you call me now
in the middle of the night, your voice dipped in
panic and uncertainty, you tell me you're dying,
you're drowning, you're burning alive. I comfort you.
But in the morning, I delete your call from my
cell phone, and pretend you never were.
2. Sometimes you're a rain cloud, a crushed cigarette,
the soft glow of light seeping through my blinds.
Sometimes you're my nightmares, but part of me likes
to be afraid. Sometimes you are all I have, the hand
in mine, the lips on my neck, the edge of desire and
comfort and life. Some
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The imagery in this one reminds me of The Luxe. I guess the symbolism of that series never left me.
So I'd like to ask you honestly, does getting what you want prevent you from loving another person? And if you love someone, would you sacrifice your ambition to live a simple life with them?
(c) Me.
So I'd like to ask you honestly, does getting what you want prevent you from loving another person? And if you love someone, would you sacrifice your ambition to live a simple life with them?
(c) Me.
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