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Literature Text
I had that nightmare again.
The one where a spiderclaw loomed just dangerously out of reach of my body,
suddenly snapping down, inches from my skin.
It didn't have any hair, it was barbed wih thorns
rusted over with dried blood and crawling
infestations of demon-bugs adorned it.
And they loved animal prints? Stray thought...
Shifting layers, scales and colours--
all enough to entrance and hypnotize,
paralyze enough to
kill.
So it took up its' macabre dance.
A stab through the cheek,
embedding the equivalent of nations,
running through the veins until
the blood refused to trickle through the open wound--
preferring instead to thob
until each vessel spontaneously decided to explode
within itself, slowly sucking away
piece by piece till nothing is left.
I woke up and realised
it was just the city and my life.
I had that nightmare again.
The one where the air was a symphony of blades,
the cold would howl and you couldn't
even hear yourself think.
So loud that you didn't know
if your heart was even beating anymore.
If I ever heard abything else ever again,
it'd be too soon.
It would encompass every piece of me
sucking anything to suggest I was living --
my breath
my memorie
my thoughts
my sight
my heart.
It's a cruel fate when you're trapped
and you know you ought to be screaming for help
but you can't remember the names or faces of who you're screaming for.
All you know is they love you
but they will never hear you.
I woke up and realised
it was just my empty house at midnight.
I had that nightmare again.
The one where anything I touched or saw or breathed upon
burned helplessly before me.
I watched my surroundings explode into flames,
drowning me in an inferno.
My feet blazed trails in their steps.
I was going to burn.
People tried to help,
tried to douse the fire.
It got colder and colder with every drop of water they choked down my throat.
It probably wasn't water though,
because water doesn't burn
or escalate into a blaze hat could
just compete with the brilliance of a thousand suns.
The world was burning
and try as I might,
I'd never be able to save it.
Everything I loved
died.
I woke up and realised
it was just the ghosts of the people I'd left behind.
I had that nightmare again.
The one where everything hurt.
Every attempt at moving
would send signals into my brain
and I'd wallow in agony from the pain,
I would drown in tranquilizers
Anaesthesia
Metaphetamine
anything to swim back
to coherency,
to sanity.
Nothing worked.
My mind would flop
through conscious pain
and internal damnation.
Even the gentlest breath
of a tear drop
or the smallest ripple
of air
dancing through my lungs
would fling me back in delirium.
I woke up and realised
it was just the faith I once had.
In lies I find the darkest truths,
in dreams I see the reality:
we all walk amongst our nightmares.
No where is safe.
The one where a spiderclaw loomed just dangerously out of reach of my body,
suddenly snapping down, inches from my skin.
It didn't have any hair, it was barbed wih thorns
rusted over with dried blood and crawling
infestations of demon-bugs adorned it.
And they loved animal prints? Stray thought...
Shifting layers, scales and colours--
all enough to entrance and hypnotize,
paralyze enough to
kill.
So it took up its' macabre dance.
A stab through the cheek,
embedding the equivalent of nations,
running through the veins until
the blood refused to trickle through the open wound--
preferring instead to thob
until each vessel spontaneously decided to explode
within itself, slowly sucking away
piece by piece till nothing is left.
I woke up and realised
it was just the city and my life.
I had that nightmare again.
The one where the air was a symphony of blades,
the cold would howl and you couldn't
even hear yourself think.
So loud that you didn't know
if your heart was even beating anymore.
If I ever heard abything else ever again,
it'd be too soon.
It would encompass every piece of me
sucking anything to suggest I was living --
my breath
my memorie
my thoughts
my sight
my heart.
It's a cruel fate when you're trapped
and you know you ought to be screaming for help
but you can't remember the names or faces of who you're screaming for.
All you know is they love you
but they will never hear you.
I woke up and realised
it was just my empty house at midnight.
I had that nightmare again.
The one where anything I touched or saw or breathed upon
burned helplessly before me.
I watched my surroundings explode into flames,
drowning me in an inferno.
My feet blazed trails in their steps.
I was going to burn.
People tried to help,
tried to douse the fire.
It got colder and colder with every drop of water they choked down my throat.
It probably wasn't water though,
because water doesn't burn
or escalate into a blaze hat could
just compete with the brilliance of a thousand suns.
The world was burning
and try as I might,
I'd never be able to save it.
Everything I loved
died.
I woke up and realised
it was just the ghosts of the people I'd left behind.
I had that nightmare again.
The one where everything hurt.
Every attempt at moving
would send signals into my brain
and I'd wallow in agony from the pain,
I would drown in tranquilizers
Anaesthesia
Metaphetamine
anything to swim back
to coherency,
to sanity.
Nothing worked.
My mind would flop
through conscious pain
and internal damnation.
Even the gentlest breath
of a tear drop
or the smallest ripple
of air
dancing through my lungs
would fling me back in delirium.
I woke up and realised
it was just the faith I once had.
In lies I find the darkest truths,
in dreams I see the reality:
we all walk amongst our nightmares.
No where is safe.
Literature
Escape
You know those times when all you wanna do is disappear?
And you can't wait to be alone?
And your wait is too agonizingly long?
I escape from the torture
And now I'm on my own.
But I'm not alone,
I brought my music with me to live on.
I will never truly be alone
Because I will always have my music.
If anyone tries to take it away from me,
Then I shall be over with and done.
Music is what keeps me living and sane.
Music is my escape.
Literature
Lies Of The Beautiful People
They tell you that you have to look a certain way,
Or dress a certain way,
In order to be beautiful.
No matter what they tell you,
No matter what they say,
You are beautiful.
Every shape,
Every size,
Every skin color is beautiful.
Ignore what they tell you,
Everyone is beautiful,
Don't let them tell you otherwise.
You were created this way for a reason,
So embrace it,
And show the world what you're made of.
Literature
Your Flaws are Beautiful
Your Flaws are Beautiful
I honestly can't stand you
And your beautiful words,
The way they sing
And flow,
And the way
You just cut into your skin
And let yourself leak out.
You are too perfectly
Imperfect,
Your flaws are beautiful
And oh so real,
And your story is one
That is impossible to tell.
Your story tells itself.
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Nightmares acting up again
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