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Literature Text
I found my arm snapped at the crook of the elbow like the broken wing of a dead bird. It lay discarded on the asphalt, red and tacky with dirt and blood. My ribcage lay a few feet away; a mangled bird's prison, the empty hull of a shattered ship after mutiny. Two legs like spilt chopsticks in the rain, growing damp and mouldering like clay, moist and hollow as the marrow leaked out, lickety-split. One last arm, fluttering like a heart on the deadened road, bruised and black under the drip dripping weather. But no heart could be found.
The Malvern Star sagged like a wet rose, gloomy in the moody dusk. Its shadow cast long over the road, dark and sly and foreboding. The cars, sheening with sweat, didn't stop. No one cared about the scattered heartstrings of a puppet on the road. No one bothered to kick the warped, dented wheels of the dead red cycle onto the curb.
The Malvern Star sagged like a wet rose, gloomy in the moody dusk. Its shadow cast long over the road, dark and sly and foreboding. The cars, sheening with sweat, didn't stop. No one cared about the scattered heartstrings of a puppet on the road. No one bothered to kick the warped, dented wheels of the dead red cycle onto the curb.
Literature
still born
i was born still,
tongue-tied
with my umbilical cord
noose, ripped out
like a parasite,
hemic with gore.
and i,
i didn't want,
wasn't supposed
to be born.
because,
the ocean tried
too many times
to swallow me whole
but took my legs instead,
twisted my spine
and made me
out of salt,
wrung my lungs
dry and stuffed my
stomach full.
she spat me out,
half-whole,
cured, but only
in my bones.
because,
i tried to die,
by razor blades
and kitchen knives;
by my own hand,
down my throat,
searching for
repentance in
yellow bile and
black blood.
they locked me up
and let me out,
three-quarters
gone, with pills to
make me grow-
but i refuse
Literature
Used To - Sad
I used to have friends
I thought I could trust,
But they faded away
And left nothing but dust.
I used to have dreams
That I treated with care,
But they slipped through my fingers
And I caught nothing but air.
I used to be strong
With a shield nothing could harm,
But now I am weak
For I've been disarmed.
I used to be happy
Successful and smart,
How is it then
That it all fell apart?
Literature
truths
i.
there are 2 things that not even the most
forceful of rains can cleanse me of:
-memories
-mistakes
ii.
sometimes, i feel like a caged lion.
only with a lot more impatience
and a lot less resilience.
iii.
i have yet to discover what it means to be content.
i am either too stagnant or too fluid.
no middle ground.
iv.
i have mastered the art of leaving.
it's the idea of moving on that still haunts me.
v.
i fear that the light in my eyes is so dim that it will burn out
before even i have a chance to see the world with it.
vi.
i am not as clever as i pretend to be.
vii.
someone needs to teach me that
i don't need reassurance; i
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Comments15
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Your poetry is amazing, Ruby.