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Literature Text
The right one looks
like picture books,
the left is lapis,
matte but ample -
riddles figured and considered:
complimentary wallpaper samples.
'I don't really care for any of these'
but must choose one
before we're done -
And it'll be there
to adorn the corners
forever
Until we can't remember
any others -
Until we forget
which was better.
So picking seems
a sudden death -
So we pray, devoutly
for something less,
or just different halls
and different walls
to dress.
like picture books,
the left is lapis,
matte but ample -
riddles figured and considered:
complimentary wallpaper samples.
'I don't really care for any of these'
but must choose one
before we're done -
And it'll be there
to adorn the corners
forever
Until we can't remember
any others -
Until we forget
which was better.
So picking seems
a sudden death -
So we pray, devoutly
for something less,
or just different halls
and different walls
to dress.
Literature
please let me get what i want.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up. I woke up with this bone-deep ache that never went away. I woke up to an incessant question playing in my mind that would never be answered. I woke up alone.
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up without you when I woke up at all. The thing about time is that it never does make anything better. It just means more space to think. It means sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. When it went wrong. How to make it better. It means slowly losing my mind. But it never once meant getting over you.
It's funny how the things you think you've forgotten always come rushing back when you
Literature
absences
but this isn't just distance
as in space, not just distance as in
whispers of,
"i can't believe how far you
are from me, i miss you" -
this isn't just distance
in the way
that roads seem to spill over
hilltops for years,
stretching like skin across knuckles
but never ending,
no.
this is the kind of distance
that isn't seen but instead felt,
that isn't marked by miles
or gas money and can't be pinned in two
spots on a map with red thumbtacks:
this is not hearing from you
for days
and knowing you haven't noticed.
this is wanting to have you
beside me
and knowing you're just fine
alone.
this is the kind of dist
Literature
it was obsession.
{it was monday}
when i texted you at eight a.m. wondering what you were doing for the day.
i texted you at nine too. oh, and ten.
you didn't reply.
i figured you were busy and left you alone.
it was four in the afternoon when i rang you to see if you were okay.
"i was just worried about you. you weren't replying to my texts!"
you said you were okay and that you had to hang out with your family for the evening.
i hung up and said i'd talk to you online later.
at nine p.m. i wrote to you on facebook.
you said you were just signing off and going bed.
you had to be up early.
i said it was okay and to get some sleep.
i went to bed too
Suggested Collections
The beige, or the off-white? To live only in the future is foolish.
© 2010 - 2024 carriezona
Comments9
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I really like this I like all your poems!!