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Literature Text
i have a bird in my chest and
she's pecking at my ribs and trying to squeeze
between the fluted bones,
frantic heartbeat tripping over mine-
i feel her feathers
scra-
pe
my lungs,
talons shredding threaded valves
and acid rising when she vomits
and
emaciated organs slic
ing and
sewing themselves back together
because
i'm the bird in my chest and
i want to pry myself open and rip myself
out-
but i don't want to let this part of me
go.
she's pecking at my ribs and trying to squeeze
between the fluted bones,
frantic heartbeat tripping over mine-
i feel her feathers
scra-
pe
my lungs,
talons shredding threaded valves
and acid rising when she vomits
and
emaciated organs slic
ing and
sewing themselves back together
because
i'm the bird in my chest and
i want to pry myself open and rip myself
out-
but i don't want to let this part of me
go.
Literature
XIX.
he called me
saint, saviour, holy,
kissed my knucklebones
to skip
purgatory; get
to Hell quicker
since he
was going there anyway
or maybe he
just liked worshipping
devils.
(should have worshipped himself)
Literature
.
you’ve got the heart of a lion
in a glass chest
Literature
Subside
Listen, there is snow
in the mountains and
rain in the valleys.
You can hear it from here,
everything rolling over
into sleep.
It all
wets down.
I pace the room
like an atom
in an atom bomb
but really, it's all gone
a little mossy
the way a gun looks
in the forest
one hundred years after.
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It is obvious that it's been awhile since I've written anything?
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Comments6
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this is beautiful and aching and i love this and i identify with this so much and just... thank you so much for writing this!!!!