We can do whatever we like
yell as much as we want to
and listen to
how
stupid-
crazy-
selfish-
we are.
You're a flawed individual
who wants to be the main spectacle.
I clap
and applause follows after
to make you feel special.
What goes around comes back around.
The only thing that talks to you is your echo.
and you can't help but like the sound.
Humanity didn't outcast us
We simply built walls
from an unbreakable bond.
As delicate as diamonds:
no matter how tough you are
the pretty ones are always taken first.
You object to the idea of being
or treating anyone like an object.
If so where are my human rights?!
You look right through me-
as if it was just the wind
as if you didn't hear a peep.
Oh,
right,
dolls don't speak.
Pucker up-
take the pill
from my porcelain mouth.
All anticipation goes south.
No,
it wasn't ecstasy.
Echoes vibrate all around us
now we're going through epilepsy.
Awaiting your fall
but you still stand tall.
I don't need you.
I can make echoes on my own
-listen-
hear the audience celebrate.
at how your pupils dilate.
Green orbs remind me of the poison
called jealousy
which you made me sip.
What are your last words?
...I'm still waiting...
Don't get all tight-lipped.
Expected you to curse-
instead you brush my freckles,
as if they're dirt
and suddenly the cave bursts into cackles...
ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Literature
douleur
heaven is slung low
brushing faces, gathering
cherry pit debris
Literature
Letter to Death
Dear Death,Why did you take Coach Eric away? It was so sudden. One day in spring we’re taking the state test and the guys’ volleyball team goes to some “emergency meeting” during lunch, and when we get back to the classroom my science teacher tells me Coach Eric passed away. I didn’t understand, just kind of got a chill, because he was probably in his late thirties or early forties, had two young daughters, and was fit as hell, like he could jumpserve and block and spike like no other middle-aged man I’ve met, and no one could have expected a heart attack in a million years. And yet… he was gone.He was a really nice man. Coach Eric was the...
Literature
The Parable of the Grasshopper
My ambrosial allegro. I used to sing freely, flowing
Odes to flaxen charms, immersed in honeyed fields and
Dawn illuminations. Summer seduced me.
Her beautiful blooms,
Merry serenades and vainglorious feasts with beguiling beasts
Entreated me to bask too long. These days,
There are no songs.All gold sensations have absconded.
Sparkling securities swallowed by
Cold storms and brash towers,
A stucco stage of blinding light to a craven
Cage of darkness.I’m afraid. Was I
A sabayon scholar, excessively
Contented with pompous promise that
Reflected in the looking glass, and now
Essentially spent and decaying emerita?
Did I cash in my bonds too s...
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Hmm, this one is quite interesting. I'm at a loss for words.