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Literature Text
there’s a hole in the world
it goes all the way through
when we look in the mirror
we don’t look at You
the sky’s breathing in
and sssucking out sound
it’ll take til forever
to drown us all out
there’s ink in the water
and gas in the clouds
we’re waiting for someone
to turn us around
the sea’s rising up
while gold turns to green
and green turns to ash
with all that we’ve seen
it goes all the way through
when we look in the mirror
we don’t look at You
the sky’s breathing in
and sssucking out sound
it’ll take til forever
to drown us all out
there’s ink in the water
and gas in the clouds
we’re waiting for someone
to turn us around
the sea’s rising up
while gold turns to green
and green turns to ash
with all that we’ve seen
Literature
I'm going home
I'm going home, I'm going home. We thought you losing your mind, didn't know at the time now we know what you meant. I'm going home, I'm going home. Such a beautiful, windy, sunny day...to go home.
Literature
A TOMB FOR THE ONE LEFT BEHIND verses 7 and 8
As my fall drags out for so long
I begin to feel disoriented, my senses all wrong
I’m in an empty void, a cold, wet, black space
There’s no up, no down, no side to side
Directions exist not in this oblivion place
So confused, I am hit with a sudden wave of negative emotion
Hatred, Self-Loathing, Anger, Sorrow, Grief, Despair, Loneliness, and more
All hit me hard, I am now in hell, truest death, I have died
However, Hell has no torment that can compare to the pain of grieving my Love
And I simply cannot accept
This fact, such a simple truth
After my loss, the loss of you
Oh my God, Oh Lord, who ever knew
That even the
Literature
revisiting the ravine where i killed myself, 2016
in march I passed over this same place, but it was colder.
now the sun shimmers down through layers of black foilage;
auburn light spatters and cools in the river in the ravine below.
on the bridge, footprints lingered in the frost like breath-marks on a pane of glass;
now the wood creaks, cedar so hot it burns its heart out, steams and moans with my body.
over the rail, flamingo's legs lie abandoned, the plastic body somewhere buried under ivy, having fallen first from the tree.
in march, i passed this same way.
my hands and feet still mark the railing;
the birds above echo the hymn: my mother wailing
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again written during '13. pretty sure this was a comment on war and secularisation but i honestly have nO IDEA ANYMORE.
© 2014 - 2024 jondiesattheend
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