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Literature Text
What does it mean to feel alive
Is there anyone who can help me
Don’t know if I can survive
Looking at me, what do you see
The scar on my hand
Means nothing to you
How long can I stand
I must pull through
You’re standing on the other side
What are you waiting for
You helped me when I cried
But then you closed your door
It was locked for so long
I thought it was left in the past
When I realized I was wrong
The locks released at last
I hope you can give me
A second chance
Maybe we can agree
To take another glance
We might find
What so many search for
Someone so kind
That will open the door
Is there anyone who can help me
Don’t know if I can survive
Looking at me, what do you see
The scar on my hand
Means nothing to you
How long can I stand
I must pull through
You’re standing on the other side
What are you waiting for
You helped me when I cried
But then you closed your door
It was locked for so long
I thought it was left in the past
When I realized I was wrong
The locks released at last
I hope you can give me
A second chance
Maybe we can agree
To take another glance
We might find
What so many search for
Someone so kind
That will open the door
Literature
scent.
theres something so comforting so
warm about my bedroom with wooden floors
splattered with paint from childhood art
projects and science experiments.
theres something so nostalgic about the way
evening sunlight filters through the closed
white curtains and makes squares of weak
gold on the cotton.
there is something so numbing about laying in front
of this heater until my face takes on a sweet burning and
i get a temporary hot river of blood pounding beneath
my cheeks.
when i cant see the floor it feels smaller in here safer in here
almost familiar in that:
i have no fucking clue where a damn thing is
and part of me doesn't want to know
Literature
Watch the World Burn
When I was young, I was told I’d live to see the world end. I believed it to be true when the earth was split wide and began swallowing everything in its path before closing over it, sealing us in the soil.
When I was free, I assumed that was that; my world had ended, replaced by one of men who feared the unknown and an unknown that feared man.
I did not expect to find people and a place I could call home, didn’t ever imagine how attached I would become, how much I’d grow to love this odd little group of creatures. So when I watch a girl who I have thought of as a sister begin to spiral towards the dark as did my true sist
Literature
Who are you?
"Who are you?"
said the Caterpillar.
"Who are you?"
But how could she answer?
The identity of a person is not so
easily known, and one has to think very hard
before one can say with certainty.
She could be a beautiful winged horse whose flesh
glows with the golden, incandescent dust of fairies, her
mane a sugary concoction of pinks and blues with streaks of
black and green whilst her tail is a brazen red that would shock the senses of
even the wildest of flames.
Or perhaps she could be a jellyfish that carves paths through
the darkest and lightest of waters, the bell shape of her body
as large as her blue skirts and her trailin
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