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Stars
I gather fallen stars,
I keep them in a pile.
I tell myself I'll hang them
on the ceiling in a while.
The stars are falling steady
while I rest my head,
awaken, then, to find them
scattered 'cross my bed
Whatever holds them up there
has started to run dry;
with ev'ry glance, a few less stars
are hanging in the sky.
I gather fallen stars.
In the sky no more remain.
One day when I'm far less tired,
I'll stick them up again.
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Holy, holy storms
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trick or treat
(o^ ^o)/🧺
The Chase
Silent whispers beckoning, Of spirits seeking reckoning: revenants in hollow halls — screeching screams and shouts and calls.
Run, Love, Run! They're seeking flesh. They won't pass up your distress. Their ghoulish hunger-cravings To which each one a slave is.
Having risen from the dead, to force you to eternal rest.
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Trick or treat
When I die
When I die and am buried, Unearth my coffin, Exhume my body, Cleave flesh from bone and Discard the meat in the raw earth.
From wrists and ankles fashion dice, Challenge the Reaper to a game I will play.
From my ribs fashion a xylophone, Play me one last song and I will sing.
My skull leave intact Place it on my gravestone, Coat it in your arterial blood, Trace your fear on the coronal suture, Kiss my forehead one more time, I will wake.
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Not For Good
There's a feeling that's called melancholy And it isn't all that bad, And I promise I'll be seeing you, And that this is only au revoir.
These are not our last words. This is not adieu. This is just auf Wiedersehen. For you and I will meet again.
No, this is not farewell, But even if it was Time and space never could Take from us what we had.
I promise this is not adeus; This is até mais. And still I'd give up all the world. To not say it at all.
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Forcing Rhubarb
I Feel a Bit Like Rhubarb, Forced; buried alive pale and breaking my bones in an effort to grow tall enough fast enough to breach through soil or leaves or foliage into the light, but kept in the dark for my misshapen form growing taller and faster than ever I should so fast you can hear me cracking apart - Like Rhubarb, Forced.
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What scares me the most about us
My love is a wretched creature Curled up in my chest — A wicked thing all teeth and claws and a hunger — a yearning for tender flesh and bone and blood.
I've a vicious beast for a heart. It lies in wait — A hunter with eyes on its prey, Ill-starred and star-crossed And yet full of hope — hopelessly It's sunk its teeth into
you —
. it.
. won't.
. let.
. go.
#poetry#words words words#spilled ink#gosh it hurts to love#i played with the composition of this one for so long#i hope it's any good at this point#i had to put some dots to anchor the text#they're not there
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There's a beat to a ticking clock
A rhythm in my life
Neverending hours making long days
Months in blinks and flashes
The years drip by like a leaky faucet
That I had no time to fix
Whiling away the whiles
And mourning the loss of it all
With each passing day
As it drifts by me
Pieces of myself get left on the bank
And I'm swept along unwillingly
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The Ghost Giggling
I am the spirit that haunts the halls I’m the wicked whisper in the walls The giggle carried on the wind A soft but ever present din Of silent rooms with walls too thin
So carry on and hear my call Until at last my voice fills all The floors and halls of that old house To hear that mumbling in the air
And here a laugh and shouting there My ghostly dance throughout the halls That echoes on the floors and walls Unceasing, ever on it calls:
“Come, come dance on the edge of being, On the edge of dark and the edge of seeing, Be the spirit that roams the halls, And the airless whispering in the walls. As a giggle carried through the night, I promise you, it’ll be alright”
#poetry#words words words#spilled ink#i wrote this for someone#if ever you find this#you know who you are
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Apparently I wrote this long ass poem while suuuuper drunk and did not remember doing it until I found it in my google docs titled FLOATING DEATH SKULL, SALT RIM which I think is very fun what a nice little surprise for sober me
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might not be fully no romo
might be demi
might be a little scared
might be happier than I've been in years
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Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase
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I love a walk through a neighborhoods
i love a fog. i love a woods.
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Under Floorboards
Stay close to me, I beg, Even from a world away — A world of dust and dusk they say, When your flesh has fallen And your bones are white as sand.
Stay close to me and I will keep you forever With me in these walls
What remains of you lies reposed Deep under where I walk, So you may hear my footsteps heavy, now forever more and I may lie upon your ribcage like I did so oft' before and that I may stand upon your shoulders like as a child, so many years ago.
I know I will join you, once again Deep beneath our house and home To join in your eternal slumber And sleep as you now do.
hi did you know that ancient mesopotamians buried their dead under the floors of their own houses to always be close to them? i can't write a poem about this but by god i will write a master's thesis
#words words words#poetry#spilled ink#i'm not a very good poet#I'm only a mad one#but I want to congratulate on your thesis#And maybe make for you that which you cannot make yourself#like as a graduation gift or something#though in my opinion#writing a master's thesis is damned impressive#much more so than stringing some words together#but I hope you like it nonetheless
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When I die
Bury me in an unmarked grave
None of you ever knew my name
None of you ever knew the truth of my body
The pillars of my shame
Bury me in an unmarked grave
In a pine box
With no viewing
Naked as I came
That I may be compost completely
That the worms eat my face
Unrecognizable
Leaving no trace
May I disappear forever
Grant me my dying grace
Bury me in an unmarked grave
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To the Confectioner’s Child
Those were the cotton candy years,
When the world was soft
And doubly sweet.
Each day another carnival,
Sugar spinning little dreams
Lifelike into clouds.
And amber was the fall,
Like maple syrup,
When cotton candy years
Lost their softness
And solidified: Crystal sugar,
Diamond-like.
The fateful day was caramel.
Glowing Golden hours
Stretching into endless shadows,
For below the sweetness,
Almost sickly as it was,
Began the bitter burns of loss.
Their words of comfort
Viscous, sticky, syrupy,
And those honeyed smiles,
Nothing but candied lies
And cutting whispers:
„ain’t fair, but that’s life“
So, meant to forgive and forget,
Under all that pressure,
Like sugar glass: you cracked
Into sharp shining shards
And biting down on them:
The metal taste of blood.
#poetry#spilled ink#i wrote this for a poetry contest#about#childhood#innocence#fragility#and I won#and then they had me perform it#in front of over 600 people#but I feel like I can post it now that that’s done
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— Leonard Cohen, Selected Poems
[text ID: I confess I meant to grow/ wings and lose my mind/ I confess that I've/ forgotten what for/ Why wings and a lost mind]
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