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Literature Text
You shoved your tin of nicotine
and cancer beneath my nose
and told me “smell it,
it tastes like evergreen.”
And as we walked these streets
of gentle suburbia, hardly
touching—but remembering all those
days of adamant high
school love (now unravelled and lost
like a paperclip you unwound
and can’t put back together again)—
I breathed in your smoke
and spice and mint, and bottled
it up like a souvenir.
You kissed me that evening,
even though we both knew you shouldn’t.
Your lips tasted like champagne,
(bitter)sweet and free,
even though all you ever drink is beer.
“My insides are fireproof,”
you said as you lit another
cigarette,
and I pretended not to
m
i
n
d.
and cancer beneath my nose
and told me “smell it,
it tastes like evergreen.”
And as we walked these streets
of gentle suburbia, hardly
touching—but remembering all those
days of adamant high
school love (now unravelled and lost
like a paperclip you unwound
and can’t put back together again)—
I breathed in your smoke
and spice and mint, and bottled
it up like a souvenir.
You kissed me that evening,
even though we both knew you shouldn’t.
Your lips tasted like champagne,
(bitter)sweet and free,
even though all you ever drink is beer.
“My insides are fireproof,”
you said as you lit another
cigarette,
and I pretended not to
m
i
n
d.
Literature
to refine by nature (is to love by night)
it is a fever, a gasoline wet dried and drowned in drunkness
and then, she
a grenade in the process of being pulled
and caught in the perspective of saving but never
quite wanting
;
there is a tongue-tied mess reeling beneath the cacophony of lover’s sheets.
peeling down the nanoseconds to the first kiss
they drowned in the taste of the ocean cry of never matching collarbones
to the fat of her neck and the hearth of her belly
like she was licked with the moon
with the touch of wine-stained kisses,
a well-mastered disaster
loving and loving
and…
;
“just tell me what you want.”
lungs shiver into the December n
Literature
fever
This love
scrapes across
my nerves,
digging crooked
fingers into flesh
so that -
even in stillness
I ache.
Literature
Fires
A hundred years ago my grandfather fought monsters in his head. When my grandmother met him, she swore to the heavens to rid him of those monsters. My grandmother lit a match, threw the match into his head, and closed the lid.
But the fire never went out.
Grandfather produced a fiery bunch of generations, those with wicked tongues and wild hair but eyes as blue as the sea. Every child was born with wanderlust and a lust for words. Every adolescent looked like trouble but was really the smartest in the class. All part of the plan, grandfather would s
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May 4, 2015.
Entry for 01.05.2015 - Quickfire Wordcloud Contest! by Lissomer.
Words Used: evergreen, suburbia, adamant, unravelled, souvenir, champagne, fireproof
Featured in:
Daily Lit Recognition for May 5th, 2015 by DailyLitRecognition.
Feature by DalekCaanII
More Loki would make a better week by SilverInkblot
Entry for 01.05.2015 - Quickfire Wordcloud Contest! by Lissomer.
Words Used: evergreen, suburbia, adamant, unravelled, souvenir, champagne, fireproof
Featured in:
Daily Lit Recognition for May 5th, 2015 by DailyLitRecognition.
Feature by DalekCaanII
More Loki would make a better week by SilverInkblot
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Comments27
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Really well written