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Literature Text
In the flame of the last candle
Floats an air I can't explain,
A dark mood I cannot handle
In the house of miss Lorraine.
In this room with shady lighting,
I look rigidly around,
Hoping nothing uninviting
Would approach without a sound.
Maddened by this constant dread,
That has crept into my soul,
I have not escaped, instead
I have lost all self control.
I cringe as the wait grows longer
For I start feeling a stare
That, in time, was getting stronger
With the smell of this thick air.
But the waiting was in vain
For I knew that it was hiding
And I tried remaining sane
As my nerve started subsiding.
Soon, the candle lost it's vigor
And the flame was barely burning
But I felt her eyes get bigger
As she gave into the yearning.
.
.
.
.
I don't wish to say goodbye
And accept such a demise
But no matter how I try
I cannot escape her eyes.
Floats an air I can't explain,
A dark mood I cannot handle
In the house of miss Lorraine.
In this room with shady lighting,
I look rigidly around,
Hoping nothing uninviting
Would approach without a sound.
Maddened by this constant dread,
That has crept into my soul,
I have not escaped, instead
I have lost all self control.
I cringe as the wait grows longer
For I start feeling a stare
That, in time, was getting stronger
With the smell of this thick air.
But the waiting was in vain
For I knew that it was hiding
And I tried remaining sane
As my nerve started subsiding.
Soon, the candle lost it's vigor
And the flame was barely burning
But I felt her eyes get bigger
As she gave into the yearning.
.
.
.
.
I don't wish to say goodbye
And accept such a demise
But no matter how I try
I cannot escape her eyes.
Literature
Recycle Bin
Oh Recycle Bin,
How you taunt me so.
Plump from my ideas,
With none for me to show.
Your mouth always open,
Waiting to be fed
The words that roll about
So messy in my head.
Each scrap a banquet,
Each page a tasty treat.
You grin at my failure
And swell from my defeat...
Literature
The Caged Bird's Lullaby
Sit and stay a spell,
Before life takes you
Away.
I am going to write a love story
Across your lungs
So you can exhale
Sweet things
When you can't
Find the words.
Sing to me
That pretty,
Tragic little song.
The one about how
She broke your name
And took your bones.
I will find each fragmented piece
And clean out
All the maggots.
My dearest,
Your windows are broken,
Cracked and tear-streaked.
Allow me to mend you;
Stained glass
Is far more beautiful
That just a pair of
Empty eyes.
Come outside
And we will dance
In the freezing rain.
We can help each other
Wash off all the poisons
Left cl
Literature
Four of a Kind (Confessions of a King).
I am
The upward curl
Of her mouth,
The smile she wears
When she has no doubt
That what she sees
Is true.
I am all her cares.
I am the glimmer
In her eyes -
All she sees
Because I leave her blind.
I am the polluted oxygen
She thrives off of -
The very same toxicity
Coursing through her veins,
Merely a harlequin
Who increases her pains.
I am the king
Of her body,
Of her heart.
I am all that she values
And I value all that
She has to lose.
I am the fall
Before the pain,
The slow dancing
Of the dying leaves
In a season
Without the rain.
I am the largest planet
In her universe,
Maybe not her sun
But I am the only one
Her earth
Revolves around.
I
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Finally! something new after a month and a half.
This is supposed to be psychological horror because, in the end, nothing is really happening. The only present terror is the one felt by the narrator.
This is supposed to be psychological horror because, in the end, nothing is really happening. The only present terror is the one felt by the narrator.
Comments14
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Makes me think of a Jane Austin situation (mom's a fan, I haven't finished a book because of how round 'about the situations are) with how he panics and how it ends with a small hint of something but at he same time perhaps nothing at all.