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Literature Text
i inhale.
it is warm,
air thick with pollen and almost-rain
and i hear you in the way they say my name;
sometimes i wish i could stop listening because
maybe living would be a little bit easier,
maybe breathing would be a little bit easier,
maybe if these lungs knew how to expand without
c r a c k i n g
i'd know what oxygen tastes like.
but instead i've got flower dust
coating my tongue and in my lungs and
i exhale and the earth comes back to life.
it is warm,
air thick with pollen and almost-rain
and i hear you in the way they say my name;
sometimes i wish i could stop listening because
maybe living would be a little bit easier,
maybe breathing would be a little bit easier,
maybe if these lungs knew how to expand without
c r a c k i n g
i'd know what oxygen tastes like.
but instead i've got flower dust
coating my tongue and in my lungs and
i exhale and the earth comes back to life.
Literature
river.flow
we talk in rivers. I have noticed
them flow in the midst of our
conversations – mine the thames,
serpentine slipping as a whisper
through the low meadows, quiet
and hissing. yours the five rivers
of the punjab, vying like brothers
in a tumult of froth and noise,
wrestling their way through
mangrove roots and mazes.
the rivers raised us, taught us their ways.
somewhere two oceans meet in a
place where there is no wind,
the doldrums silent and still
as two currents cancel out in
a moment of collision. as the
thames flows into the punjab
and halts, so too do we stand
together, silent, over-brimming
with restrained tidal
Literature
nest of thought
every day I see these doves perched outside
my window. they are as blank as bleached sheets of paper--
crinkled at the corners and piled into a flock.
i want to eat them--sip at the burning rot of my
columbian-blend coffee and dine on their pretty poem hearts.
my hands would catch frail bone-song, breaking them into
a rejuvenated verse of something earthbound--in a single snap of
little wings, the birds become flightless, half-way uttered phrases.
their bunched up feathers curl into pause.
i’d move to the second line--the throat, crushing windpipes
to taste the rumble of a dying note. i’d plunge through the fibers
of mus
Literature
Dried up Tears
It’s.
Another...
Quiet day, locked up inside my room. Home alone, but I still don’t want to move around the house. Got a lot of chores I should be doing, but I’ll get to them later, maybe.
Was just wanting to chill all day, laying around like a Snorlax. Was trying to absorb positive vibes, but my brain had other plans, no time to relax, getting pushed back into the ring for another round of sadness.
Inside of my mind is rambled, over thought so much damaging things, I’m now not sure what is actually reality or just a product of my mind. The ability to create illusions that can be implanted inside your brain so easily
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written on the last day of april, technically
day 20
day 20
© 2017 - 2024 inthespacebetween
Comments4
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I can taste the pollen
Feel the pollen
sue the pollen
Feel the pollen
sue the pollen