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Literature Text
the tender weeds they tumble
into the fusty damp;
they shrivel -
curl like ribbons
adorning your grave.
into the fusty damp;
they shrivel -
curl like ribbons
adorning your grave.
Literature
-
death knocks on your
door with a crooked little grin
and tells you that he'd like
his tea with two sugars, please,
and that you'd better start packing;
but only bring your valuables
because he's got no room in his hearse
for remorse
Literature
.
here is a love story
in quiet words:
she pressed her hands to my heart
and her palms came away
dusty.
Literature
Mastering Me
In another universe,
I have green eyes, curly hair,
and paint smeared across all my fingers--
a war cry of artistry
instead of needlepoint scars.
The pooch of my belly
and the lumps in my thighs
might be from anything else
but the insulin I inject four times a day.
I grow up a child, not a parent,
the master of my destiny
not running away but running toward;
I'm a little bit taller
in spirit and stature,
in all the ways that matter
when darkness creeps under the door
and phantoms howl.
I shave my legs every day
instead of once every month
once every three months
once every only now and again when I feel like it
and I'm confident--
a godde
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if only you knew how much I miss you
Inspired by the prompt 'widower' given by AtrociousLamb
See the full prompt tag journal here: fav.me/d7s0hcm
Inspired by the prompt 'widower' given by AtrociousLamb
See the full prompt tag journal here: fav.me/d7s0hcm
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Comments12
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Your word choice is succulent, with too much direct brevity to be purple prose, although the image painted in my mind is positively Lovecraftian...