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Literature Text
There is beauty in the contrary.
The off beats of appreciation are not wanton
To those found wanting.
In the jazz of life,
They offer an escape from the machinations of our conducting oppressors.
A personal oppressor we all know well.
A violin that shrieks high and
Cuts at the beauty of melody,
Nothing but an escape from the prescient
Vision of pre-destiny. There is a remedy.
There is always a remedy. An escape
From the inevitable end we are
Offered
In the madness of the ecstatic heart heavy dance.
Release your burdens and see
What the enlightenment brings.
The off beats of appreciation are not wanton
To those found wanting.
In the jazz of life,
They offer an escape from the machinations of our conducting oppressors.
A personal oppressor we all know well.
A violin that shrieks high and
Cuts at the beauty of melody,
Nothing but an escape from the prescient
Vision of pre-destiny. There is a remedy.
There is always a remedy. An escape
From the inevitable end we are
Offered
In the madness of the ecstatic heart heavy dance.
Release your burdens and see
What the enlightenment brings.
Literature
Newspaper Suit
I am a charlatan
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
the pushpins
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
of death.
Literature
The Waste World
She said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morp
Literature
Adieu
Strangling myself with this silence,
I am one rung closer
with every little death descending deeper
into Gehenna's bowels,
brandishing a soul through drawn eyes
and watching it all burn.
A plea for deliverance
stretches thin over this thrust
my masochist thirst insists.
If asphyxia is Heaven,
my throat is the horizon.
You can't sever midnight sky from sea,
the black from the blue.
Rolling back on my spine serpentine grande,
I at last experience revelation.
To dream in grayscale and melancholy
is to never suffer disappointment
at the hands of Life's disastrous folly.
I feast upon the fruit of despair
its
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This is lovely. The first line is absolutely perfect, the imagery is just beautiful. This is lovely.