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Literature Text
I want to hear the rain drops clear my rooftop,
I want to feel your breath and then your heart stop.
My love is one thing I can guarantee,
If I can't feel your touch, you're too far from me.
It more than hurts when you're upset,
It jabs and stabs and makes me sweat.
The pain you feel will heal with time,
Or we'll jam the curse with tonic and lime.
We'll get through it like we always do,
And in the end I need to thank you.
For sticking by me from day to day,
Regardless of the price you pay.
Like a poor man versus a millionaire,
Life without you would not be fair.
I want to hear the rain drops clear my rooftop,
I want to feel your breath and then your heart stop.
I want to feel your breath and then your heart stop.
My love is one thing I can guarantee,
If I can't feel your touch, you're too far from me.
It more than hurts when you're upset,
It jabs and stabs and makes me sweat.
The pain you feel will heal with time,
Or we'll jam the curse with tonic and lime.
We'll get through it like we always do,
And in the end I need to thank you.
For sticking by me from day to day,
Regardless of the price you pay.
Like a poor man versus a millionaire,
Life without you would not be fair.
I want to hear the rain drops clear my rooftop,
I want to feel your breath and then your heart stop.
Literature
Liar
***
The first time you realize he's lying is a Sunday. He coughs a couple times, maybe once or twice, and you find yourself reaching out, asking, "Are you okay?"
It's habitual, something you always do. It's just reflexive, years of politeness grilled into your head. He knows that, he knows that.
And yet he glares at you suspiciously. "I'm fine."
A small voice in the back of your head says, 'Liar' and you wonder just where that came from. Because you know he'd never lie to you, you've been best friends for far too long for that.
But that's the only logical explanation as to why he's staring at you as though he's trying to puzzle something
Literature
it began when:
his fingers beat his tears in the race to touch his cheek.
"don't you wish we'd have fallen in love?"
"every single day."
Literature
notes on a suicide
this is the open
kitchen
door.
these were their perfect
children
four.
there is his briefcase
on the
floor.
down her face his wife's
tears
pour.
and his feet are ten inches
off the
floor.
quoth the raven
never
more.
this is the
open
kitchen
door
.
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It is what you make of it.
ALL feedback is appreciated and replied to
ALL feedback is appreciated and replied to
© 2010 - 2024 Marsali-x
Comments7
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You are right it is what you make of it.
And you can take it different ways.
Not many can write something like that.
Well done.
Live to write...
Write to live..
Blessed Be.
Founder of #Candlelight-Writers
Co-founder of #The-Writers-Rose
And you can take it different ways.
Not many can write something like that.
Well done.
Live to write...
Write to live..
Blessed Be.
Founder of #Candlelight-Writers
Co-founder of #The-Writers-Rose