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Literature Text
Tear ducts find a way
to open that organ
that pumps blood;
crack it every time
it moves.
Best friends find a way
to slip through your veins,
breathe their last;
leave your mind
with havoc.
Lovers find a way
to kiss your nature,
your being,
your insides and outs,
leaving you with
tissue flesh hanging.
Fathers find a way
to nurture your brain,
stir the gray matter
and bash the temporal lobe.
to open that organ
that pumps blood;
crack it every time
it moves.
Best friends find a way
to slip through your veins,
breathe their last;
leave your mind
with havoc.
Lovers find a way
to kiss your nature,
your being,
your insides and outs,
leaving you with
tissue flesh hanging.
Fathers find a way
to nurture your brain,
stir the gray matter
and bash the temporal lobe.
Literature
Before Her Death
Before Her Death, Angry Argument on Phone
I would walk along the beach
a couple times a week, enjoying
sunset near the golf course
where my body would later be
found. I would lose myself in the gentle
effort of thinking about Puff
mincing his steps
across the windowsills at home
and how I needed to get back
to tend the roses I planted
in front of the place on Edgemar Avenue
where I used to live. Sometimes
I would walk, not thinking at all
about my collection of wedding dolls
or the mystery novel Id recently
begun, forgetting the things
everyone does about the lovers
they stopped seeing years ago
not thinking, e
Literature
Thoughts from an afterthought
I realize now that it was inevitable
I'd be so easy to forget.
Someone (somewhere) checked a box
marked "permanently absent"
and people, these days,
pay strict attention to detail.
Every piece in its proper place,
every memory specifically erased -
this is the way we solve the puzzle.
Correction: this is the way you solve it,
but, when you're not part of the solution,
then you are the problem.
See, that's where I come in.
I am a magnet.
I am a pane of glass.
I am a diversion.
I come in an easy to unwrap package -
it cleans up nice; no mess, no bother.
All for the low, low cost
of an empty word
or an endearing glance.
Literature
Diary Entries of a Dead Girl
"Wanted: One heart. It must be scarred along the edges, cracked...but only a little." She sets the pen down next to her, ink balled upon the tip in black, and glances at the diary. Torn and tear-stained pages clutter the space between the covers like tissues in a box, the clasp hanging off-kilter. Broken. A steak-knife and hammer lie near the tips of her left fingers. She picks up the pen.
"It must not age, but stay naive forever. It must be fitting for a girl of sixteen to still be able to dream with. It cannot shatter." The down-sl
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My uncle died this morning. My aunt lost a lover and a friend, my 13 year old cousin lost a father and a friend.
I'm in disbelief. I don't know what to feel.
For those of you that don't know..."The temporal lobe controls hearing and some aspects of language perception, emotion, and memory. " [link]
I'm in disbelief. I don't know what to feel.
For those of you that don't know..."The temporal lobe controls hearing and some aspects of language perception, emotion, and memory. " [link]
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