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Literature Text
Now each has his or own talent, or at least that is what we have from birth all have been told, then theres you who in your own way is gifted by not being in the least. Truly the most talented in the way of no talent of any description, the most skilled in the lack there of, you’ve beaten us all in the art of losing, a champion of failings, give yourself a pat upon the back for all of you successes pertain to and back to nothing.
II
Stand proud and prideful oh great king of can’t do a goddamned thing, what a pinnacle you are you have my admirations with my sympathy. In all of my achievements you have outranked me in your failings and as an endless victor it is difficult for me to admit this but in a game of losing I have no chance of winning.
II
Stand proud and prideful oh great king of can’t do a goddamned thing, what a pinnacle you are you have my admirations with my sympathy. In all of my achievements you have outranked me in your failings and as an endless victor it is difficult for me to admit this but in a game of losing I have no chance of winning.
Literature
Nonexistent
Wish you were never born
Wish you never came to be
Wish you were never came around
Wish you weren’t my father
All you are is just a ghost
In the backdrop.
You sleep in a coffin
Only to rise from the grave
Looking for a fresh meal
That was slaved over the stove.
You may do minor work
But that ain’t enough
Ladies got the world on their shoulder
While your scratching your ass in the corner.
You are a poison
That tries to kill slowly
But I reject the cocktail
Shoving it down your ungrateful throat
As you choke on your toxic gunk
Croaking like a frog with your hands on your neck.
You don’t spare time
With your loved ones
Too focused on your reflection
Thinking of yourself
While the world burns behind you.
Why were you even born?
Why would your parents conceive you?
Why did you bother having a family?
How do you sleep at night?
Do the universe a favor
Throw yourself in a black hole
Vanish into the void
Be erased from reality
Become nonexistent.
Literature
Knocks At The Door
Written 1/3/25
1,2,3,4
Who's there
Knocking at my door
1,2,3,4
Pounding loudly
As this craving
Crawls up my skin
And through my veins
The same craving
That I tell
To stay away
And It'll go
But just for
A while
Then
They come back
1,2,3,4
The knocking
It gets louder
1,2,3,4
The knocking
That familiar knock
The knock
That reminds me
Of those cravings
You know
The ones
That
Start so small
Then
It creeps
Through your veins
And in your blood
Then
1,2,3,4
Who's knocking
On my door
No response
1,2,3,4
Why does this knock
Seem to be getting louder
And
More intense
Just like
Those cravings
Oh
Those cravings
You know
The ones
That flow
Through your blood
Then
To the brain
You know the ones
The ones
That
Start so small
Then they
Just are apart
Of you
And
Who you are
1,2,3,4
I need to find
That knock
Why it reminds me
Of
Those cravings
Oh you know
Those cravings
That
They become apart of you
And
Who you are
Then
You spend your time
Looking for who you used to be
And
Do anything
To
Literature
Surfside Inn
Walking back from the beach was always quicker than going there.
For years I would scan those assembled for my sister. It didn't occur to me until very recently that in my mind she never aged. Or that she would be wearing different colors. Or different clothes at all.
I had been deposited on the sand finally, and she was nowhere to be seen. After hanging out by the hotel, I had just gone home. Even when she wasn't there in the morning, I didn't think anything of it. People meet, go to parties or rooms, lose track of time and responsibilities. Even when, days later, her boss at General Dollar called, all I had on deck as an answer was the equivalent of a shrug.
I still live at the same place. It was cheap, and still is. Spend most of my time on the screened-in porch reading, or walking the sand by the strip of hotels, fireworks exploding year-round above my head.
There isn't any place else to go, or anything else to do. I don't register faces that aren't hers, or voices without her
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