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Literature Text
every second of breathing
is like a dull blade scraping through my skin
my mind is erratic with tendencies
of self doubt
leading to mental self inflicted pain
god damn it not this again
a circle around my troubles
has led me back to "go"
all I want is to live
without my tears tearing
without my brain triggering self hate
can't even look at my face
to be toe to toe with the mirror
feel likes I'm facing the reaper
I wonder when it'll come to me
or at least set me free
so I can finally breathe with ease
is like a dull blade scraping through my skin
my mind is erratic with tendencies
of self doubt
leading to mental self inflicted pain
god damn it not this again
a circle around my troubles
has led me back to "go"
all I want is to live
without my tears tearing
without my brain triggering self hate
can't even look at my face
to be toe to toe with the mirror
feel likes I'm facing the reaper
I wonder when it'll come to me
or at least set me free
so I can finally breathe with ease
Literature
Disorder.
Wait, what have I done to myself?
It's like I took my fucking life and put it on a bookshelf.
Everything has gotten so out of control,
how can I keep living in this hellhole?
Worst of all, I can't even see an end to all of this,
it's just one big damn black abyss.
There's just so much pain,
so much that it's hard to contain.
Literature
Rombos
por Romy Lara
El aire gélido se coló en la habitación y alborotó los papeles minuciosamente acomodados en el escritorio. Tronándose los nudillos de la mano izquierda, Julio se incorporó y cerró la ventana de un golpe. Afuera el cielo se caía pedazo por pedazo. Reacomodó el desorden que se había hecho en su mesa de trabajo, colocando cada documento en su lugar: los de etiqueta amarilla en la carpeta amarilla, los marcados con verde en la papeleta verde y así consecutivamente con cuatro colores más.
Procedió a sacar un cuaderno de portadas negras de su
Literature
UntitledSunset
Sunset wraps up the day in ribbons and bows
And we watch another page torn from the calendar of our lives.
Hearts measure time not of clocks, but anothe rythm,
More like surf, or the beating of wings.
With a cold wind in my face I think of
The beauty in loss, and the bitterness in gain.
I think,
Jasmine tea,
Don't you?
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