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Literature Text
Blemished Memories, Disappearing Star(s)
I’m cradling the cracks of blemished memories,
And wishing that zooming stars actually did grant these silly dreams,
Foolish visions hoping that we could actually grow from this,
But I just say my vision is senseless,
So once I’m disappointed with result of what I’ve witnessed (Which is bound to happen);
Disheartened with the fact “stars” don’t grant wishes,
I won’t be so distraught over seeing something that wasn’t even true;
Disintegrate into nothingness.
I almost wish it never appeared;
That this thing fell apart before it even got here,
Before the particles of once was,
Spread and lie within the deepest crevices of my grey atmosphere.
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
Literature
draptomania
they say he grows roses in the devil's garden
that he dances a clockwork vaudeville, a sinner's penance.
that he's a man of of dirty knees and sweaty palms,
howling a name that isn't mine. that he's
a special matter of calamity with a dormant heart and a lucent mind.
a hollow man, a transgression,
a bare and tremulous traveller
Literature
perennial
grief visits me today.
he watches as i write about you,
putting his hand on my arm
to stop the words
from shaking.
the river of veins is a blue glare
beneath his waxen skin, the valleys
under his eyes dark with our shared
misery.
i don’t ask where he’s been, or why
he’s suddenly back. i don’t want to know
who else he’d been with
when he was gone.
“you look better,” he says, pulling my hand
from the notebook. he
kisses it, holds it to his cheek.
the weaker parts of my spirit surge at his cold
familiarity.
i trace the arch of his lips to avoid
his eyes, ask him if he’d forgotten
about m
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I wrote this piece last night. Couldn't sleep for the life of me (Started around 2 AM, finished around 2:25 AM) and I must say I'm actually REALLY proud of this piece. 
This correlates to a bunch of things (Both fiction and non-fiction), but the two central themes are shooting "stars" and memories of past relationships/ex-friends.
I won't give away my entire thought process behind this piece though as I'm really curious to see how people relate and interpret this.
Fun fact though (And little tip behind MY own thoughts on this piece), shooting stars aren't even stars at all. They're meteorites.
This correlates to a bunch of things (Both fiction and non-fiction), but the two central themes are shooting "stars" and memories of past relationships/ex-friends.I won't give away my entire thought process behind this piece though as I'm really curious to see how people relate and interpret this.
Fun fact though (And little tip behind MY own thoughts on this piece), shooting stars aren't even stars at all. They're meteorites.
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for me this holds the essence of a past relationship. I love all the different angles and views you can look at this from. tis honest and beautifully crafted. 