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Literature Text
If you want to kiss me,
Kiss me
I'm sure I'll enjoy the way you taste
Just don't expect my heart to beat
Don't worry, love.
If you press your ear to my chest
You'll probably hear a steady rhythm
I've filled the gap as best I can
With a composite
Of blood vessels
And nerve endings
My heart?
No, love.
It's not that I've never had one
I just gave it away
To a girl with bright, pretty eyes
She took it with her, you know
Over six thousand miles away
Where it probably picked up
A fine coating of sand
And the smell of gunmetal
Where?
I don't know, love.
I'm not really sure where it is now
Collecting dust, maybe
In a shoebox under a bunk
With an old letter
And a photograph
And sometimes, I think it gives a little flutter
When that girl smiles
Because I always loved her smile best of all
But if you want to hold me,
Hold me
I'm certain I'll fit right into the crook of your arm
And if you want to touch me,
Touch me
I've no doubt you can make me feel good
Just don't wait for my heart to beat
Because I think I might be heartless.
Kiss me
I'm sure I'll enjoy the way you taste
Just don't expect my heart to beat
Don't worry, love.
If you press your ear to my chest
You'll probably hear a steady rhythm
I've filled the gap as best I can
With a composite
Of blood vessels
And nerve endings
My heart?
No, love.
It's not that I've never had one
I just gave it away
To a girl with bright, pretty eyes
She took it with her, you know
Over six thousand miles away
Where it probably picked up
A fine coating of sand
And the smell of gunmetal
Where?
I don't know, love.
I'm not really sure where it is now
Collecting dust, maybe
In a shoebox under a bunk
With an old letter
And a photograph
And sometimes, I think it gives a little flutter
When that girl smiles
Because I always loved her smile best of all
But if you want to hold me,
Hold me
I'm certain I'll fit right into the crook of your arm
And if you want to touch me,
Touch me
I've no doubt you can make me feel good
Just don't wait for my heart to beat
Because I think I might be heartless.
Literature
He Is Not An Edward.
He is not an Edward.
He doesn't stare at me every minute he is with me.
Or smell my hair and watch me sleep.
Won't follow me, like a lost puppy,
Sometimes, he'll even walk away.
He doesn't love me for my faults,
It's in spite of them.
He'll notice pretty girls, even think of
past lovers
When he laughs at me, it's because I'm silly,
Not cute
Or Perfect.
The thought of me getting hurt does not bring tears to his eyes.
He would not die if I died,
He is not an Edward.
And I am not a Bella.
We are real.
Our love is real.
And that,
Is more important, and genuine
Than idealistic, impossible fantasies.
Screw Edward.
Literature
just never check your junkmail
Why is it that you contaminate
my feeds and favourites? Why
is your website my homepage?
Why are there playlists with
songs that remind me of you
or files dedicated to you? Tell
me why the first thing I do when
I get home is go on the Internet,
and
Google your name. Slap myself.
Google both our names together.
Did you mean Never in a Million
Years? Actually, I meant billion.
Fuck you, Google.
Drag mouse. Point-click the top bar.
Erase web address. Enter new URL:
www.fakewhoresandwebsites.com-
promise me three things:
to never reveal my password.
to never read my messages.
to never send me Spyware.
(go figure;
that'
Literature
when lust becomes so much more
when we first met, we were strangers.
but there is nothing strange about us.
neither of us were expecting
some one-night fling to grow
into a magnetic candlespark,
beautiful in its cliché sorrow.
and you love my clichés,
because i mean them in
the truest way possible.
making out,
making love
(heArtisans)
we crafted something
so delicate, so lovely,
a worthy melancholy:
hanging on the hope,
wishing on airplanes,
pretending every star
is ours to hold tightly.
as tightly as we want
to embrace ourselves
in each other's grasp.
i remember listening to your heart beat
like a seashell: babump, babump bump.
you're my
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Beautiful indeed.