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killerolives 4 months
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is it salt that marks the sea?
sewn into it's current,
saturated, dissolved.
i rise where you rise,
i fall where you fall.
i carry what you cannot,
holding up what you would swallow down.
yet no amount of buoyancy
can simulate the feeling of being held up
by another.
i suppose
in order to float one must first
be seperated from the water.
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killerolives 5 months
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killerolives 5 months
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i fling seashells into the water;
each move i make is saturated
and given weight by my resentment.
i walk home in the rain
and let the weight of my grief
cling between fabric and skin.
the tide goes out and i grow up.
shells filled with wet dredges
of sand and mud
sit by my feet.
and still i swallow them down,
my tongue caked with filth
from the bottom of the sea.
time and time again i cast a vessel
until it can bring me nothing but
second-hand grief.
morsels that are soaked-through but
only serve to prolong my thirst.
before long, the water rises,
filling my ears
with whites and waves,
washing off the dried grit, then
retreating into the distance
to do it all again.
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killerolives 5 months
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a dog howls in the distance and some almost subconscious part of me urges it to keep going, to keep crying into the night. let me channel my anguish through your shouts, a release where i cannot, a chimney blowing smoking, pushing out the thick, black clouds that fill my throat, choking me in their desperation to be free.
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killerolives 5 months
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when asked, i think you would say
"i felt it stirring, calling when i least expected."
something waking from the depths of winter
stretching, blinking,
calling
when asked, i do not say
"i searched acres of trees, calling,
till my throat burned and my voice grew raw."
vigilant in my search,
never resting.
you did not stumble upon me by chance
nor fate,
i forced these roots to take hold,
and i will nurture
till my body decays, turning to compost.
a final meal, a sacrifice.
when asked, i say,
"i never could have seen it coming,
but when it called,
i had no choice but to answer."
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killerolives 6 months
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there was a time i resented the pounding
of my heart.
fear fear fear
flooding my senses
and pulsing through me,
recalicant in it's assurance:
there is no safety near.
the tremble of flesh
overworked, overtired.
the sheen of my skin pulled taut,
holding the writhing parts of me together.
in the half-light there is a comedown
and you hold me through it
and the frantic thumping is steady
and you hold me through it.
the static clings,
buzzing
in the space between where we are joined.
the rise and fall of my ribs
and the beat slowing in my ears.
fear fear fear ?
it sounds uncertain,
the words mantra-like but almost
absentminded.
as if waiting to be rewritten
with a more apt, a more just descriptor.
an organ gifted with a new verse,
a body gifted respite.
the jolt of something new,
my heart moving for you.
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killerolives 6 months
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I've read a few more posts of yours and i love it. Im so glad i came across your newest post! Much loveeee 馃馃挆
omg hello this has acc made my day tysm !! 馃馃徑馃馃徑
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killerolives 6 months
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i hold it like a souvenir,
smooth around the edges.
shining when it catches the light
and shining when it doesn't,
daylight forged into its core.
the weight of it between my teeth
grounds me.
i turn it over and over,
letting my tongue run
over the warm surface,
letting myself recognise it with each sense.
sturdy in it's manufacture
and compressed carefully over time,
it's formation was no accident.
and i yearn.
i yearn to swallow it down,
to let it become part of me,
to allow my muscles to part
and my veins to climb around it
and hold it tight,
nestling it in place
beneath my ribs.
i yearn to break it down
until it is indiscernible from my very being, beating in tandem with my heart.
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killerolives 6 months
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I know that there is nothing I can do with this jigsaw of memories that I have accumulated. memories of you, of us. A kleptomaniac stares back at me in the mirror as a distant voice of reason asks, why? Why am I grave robbing, nails digging into the decomposed flesh of old text messages, sifting through bodies of words written by someone I don鈥檛 recognise? As I pocket the least affected organs, I move on, collecting, gathering- if I can鈥檛 stand the sight of you in wholeness, I will at least put myself together again. I am Frankenstein, both monster and doctor.
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killerolives 6 months
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penance
I will forever be grateful that you did not care enough to hunt me down. To follow me as far as I would go and tell me you simply could not bear the idea of losing what we had. It would鈥檝e killed me. You would have killed me. With no awareness of your actions; so perfectly and painfully in character. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I was ready to chase you down, at whatever cost. And I don鈥檛 admit that lightly. It鈥檚 a slap in the face that I inadvertently owe my freedom from you to you. But if that鈥檚 the rate it comes at, then I am happy to silently pay my penance in the form of guilt. To hold our secret - yes our secret, because although you let me carry the burden and shame of it alone, it will forever be ours - and, maybe one day, I鈥檒l let it go. And then it will be yours, and I hope it weighs on you till death do you part. I hope it presses slowly against every airway, missing no opportunity to cause unbearable pain. I hope it greets you as an old friend, returning to take back what rightfully belongs to it. You deserve each other.
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killerolives 6 months
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we did collage work in my poetry class today !!
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killerolives 7 months
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wrote this poem as a response to an object i found in a museum archive and it just got put up on display !!
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killerolives 7 months
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day 23 prompt: celestial
suspended in time,
singular, archaic.
praying to a sky
littered with corpses
for the rebirth of a line.
what does it mean to
hold position? alight,
unmoving,
the centre of orbit
amid a celestial blaze.
burn, be consumed,
there will be no flash of
dying light.
burn, then rise,
become the seraphs themselves,
and fight.
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killerolives 7 months
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day 20 prompt: frost
the unknown rivulets have
a method of escape
through glacial mountain fronts.
did you know?
a child weighed down by secrets
rejects the closeness you crave
while yearning in tandem.
seeping through fractured ice,
only to submit to the frost before reaching you
each individual instance of snow
displays recognised beauty yet
in excess becomes bothersome.
how much of my coldness could you take?
i who is shoveled into piles
marked with the filth of summer's mud
at the edges of our driveway.
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killerolives 7 months
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day 17 prompt: demon
i am wilted by my own design.
water withheld, methodically,
ritualistically.
i burned these roots聽
with half-smoked cigarettes,聽
blisters peeling, marked, a sign
planted harshly, calculated.
fingernails filthy with soil
digging into
my open wounds
digging, cold stiff fingers into unforgiving聽
earth
pulling, yanking, fighting, forcing聽
demons up from where they rest,
where they never existed,
molding organs from pebbles and mud,
do you see, do you see it yet? i am haunted i
swear
to you i am haunted, i am something worth
haunting.
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killerolives 7 months
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day 16 prompt: angel
he carries no message, nor acts as an agent of any diety. i catch myself watching, green with envy, yet sub-consciously taking notes. a character study; a personality transplant. the very notion of moving freely has, i realise with a sense of shame, never even occured to me. i am embrassed by my obedience and i am angry with him for making me aware of it. i make lists,聽 obsessively, imitating the way his lips move, the sureness of his words. no angel has liberated me as he has, and the burn of my jealously flashes and dies as quick as it appeared, making way for something more tender. he teaches me to move in a way that belongs only to me, unaware of the precious gift of autonomy that he has bestowed. slowly, i outgrow the traits i stole and build my own in place. my research becomes nothing more than evidence of my affection for him. something which is mine, and mine alone.聽
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killerolives 7 months
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day 15 prompt: dagger
it takes less time that i expected to grow use to the weight. my body envelopes it, welcoming any evidence of your attention. how can i twist this into an undeniable sign of your devotion? i embrace the pain, carrying it as a reminder as the unforgiving edges slice further, burying itself deeper.
will you love me if i hold this? will this be worth it in the end? if i promise to forgive you without an ounce of resentment, will you let me keep the blade?
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