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Literature Text
Hearts fooled, fouled, full
Arteries throb, clogged with shadows
With truth, no room for the other
Who is demanding
Who is begging
The self, cut in two
The self can see
No more truth
Clogged with shadows
Mirror shards
The good life
All needing now
Gorging on each other
Becoming the other
Poverty, the bifurcation of self
A well heart wealth
Arteries throb, clogged with shadows
With truth, no room for the other
Who is demanding
Who is begging
The self, cut in two
The self can see
No more truth
Clogged with shadows
Mirror shards
The good life
All needing now
Gorging on each other
Becoming the other
Poverty, the bifurcation of self
A well heart wealth
Literature
lemon
we walk down the streets
of a city named after the last thousand years.a breeze floats by
and for a moment your hair lifts off your shoulder.the way it doesn't touch you,
i want to touch you.there are traces of lemon in your light,
a vague sense of mint on your fingertips.the way honey tastes
drifts inside your shirt.entering the city
walking calmly while the light fallsis like listening to your voice,
like waiting at the bell by the riverfor a clamoring to do justice
to the patterns on the water.the way the bells never end
i want to brush my hand against yours.the way you drop lemon into your water
i want to live.
Literature
The Wailing: Teaser
Part I: The Sirens The sound of the sirens is what has stayed with me. I remember the explosions, the engines of the Messerschmitts, the screams of men trapped beneath the rubble. Of course I do. But it is the wail of the sirens that yet haunts my dreams, settles that same cold sickness in my gut, that same cold slickness on my palms. It is the banshee shriek of coming death. The night was cold and clear when that sound prickled along my arms like so many icy fingers reaching out from behind the drapes. Rowan stilled her hands at the typewriter and ripped the sheet from the machine, lest some unscrupulous eye should take advantage of her ...
Literature
The Waste World
She said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like mor...
© 2012 Thomas Duke
© 2012 Janice Duke
© 2012 Janice Duke
© 2012 - 2025 FalloutPanda
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