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Literature Text
janus-faced
and untrue,
a deity of points
is an avatar
of forgery,
forging history in defenseless
scrolls and telling you
it’s existing because it’s
bleeding signatures
in empty pages.
this is the false start,
the recycling of hallucinations
and mirages of erroneous hope
in the creases of my knees,
the inner lining of my jaw,
and gaps of my digits.
my (y/f)ears melting
into sounds
of looping heresy
and repeats of
old episodes.
cutting, breaking disruptions
of shattered record(ing)s
and i have no idea
what i’m watching.
or what i’m listening to
or why the fuck
they’re staring at me.
years are like love,
beautiful in concept;
impossible to grab hold of
until it has already passed by.
past byes and goodnights
i’ve never heard before
are all driving me into
the closet where the rest
of me lives.
a recycling pattern
of belief washes over
onto the first of first days,
the many firsts
of a first-born only waste.
and untrue,
a deity of points
is an avatar
of forgery,
forging history in defenseless
scrolls and telling you
it’s existing because it’s
bleeding signatures
in empty pages.
this is the false start,
the recycling of hallucinations
and mirages of erroneous hope
in the creases of my knees,
the inner lining of my jaw,
and gaps of my digits.
my (y/f)ears melting
into sounds
of looping heresy
and repeats of
old episodes.
cutting, breaking disruptions
of shattered record(ing)s
and i have no idea
what i’m watching.
or what i’m listening to
or why the fuck
they’re staring at me.
years are like love,
beautiful in concept;
impossible to grab hold of
until it has already passed by.
past byes and goodnights
i’ve never heard before
are all driving me into
the closet where the rest
of me lives.
a recycling pattern
of belief washes over
onto the first of first days,
the many firsts
of a first-born only waste.
Literature
The human condition of wanting to be everything
I feel as though I am exhausting
The excess skin around
My eyes
They
h
a
n
g
in loose shadows
Across my cheekbones like
A wreath.
And whilst I find myself
unable
To draw open the blinds
Because the light
is too bright
And I really can’t handle
The pane of the sky
With its obnoxious
Blue
glaring at me
With such a joyful expression
I know that lately
I am burning myself out
That I consume one too many
Cans of soda and energy drinks
At 2.45 AM
When the rest of the world
Is static in a hushed
Comatose state
Whilst I frantically try
To achieve something
Because being
Average
Ordinary
Mundane
Is too
Literature
Power Plant
Silently I stand
Under the fused sky
My metal body
My mind pure and sterilised
I, the enabler
I, the promise of new light
I, the provider
I, the world’s synthetic heart
Sparkling horns of steel
Burnt shadows in the ground
Invisible power
Through my intestines realized
I, the creator
I, the mechanical god
I, the destructor
I, the danger overcharged
Pray to me now
Your addiction to my blood
I, the lie assembled
I, death of the unrefined
Literature
The New Beat
Spools, large and wooden, empty now
The kind that used to hold industrial cable
The rhythm of the trucks have left their song
Imprinted upon them, all down the borderlands
Cryptic drawings and messages scrawled with knives
Ola, T’kia, Celestial Dawn, all have danced there
Beneath the moonlight’s unerring eye,
(I was up above it)
Redemption for a dollar, smooth-skinned,
(Now I’m down in it)
Stranglewood, gangrenous, limbs protruding
Jungle drums mixed with a wealth of tangled wire
Ghostly incantations, chanting, fires burning
All in Ohio’s darkest regions, like hell, like chainsaws
Unkempt and unclean, Guinevere dr
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Comments20
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years are like love,
beautiful in concept;
impossible to grab hold of
until it has already passed by.
This is probably the simplest of the stanzas in regard to your exceedingly talented wordplay. But it just really stuck out to me with its power. How are you even doing this to me?