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Literature Text
The traffic jam on the I-15 locked like a Chinese Fingertrap, every vehicle aligned like some fucked-up map of stars over the skyline of a cemetery. Hours before the Sun broke down crying, the Moon undressed its craters and tossed them on the floor of some sleazy galaxy avenue.
--
Drive faster.
"But this is as fast as I can go." He spun the wheel the same way he spun his tongue in her mouth: recklessly -- too bad it's not spelt 'wrecklessly'. He sped across the bedspread boulevard with one hand steering the car and one hand steering the course of his life off the road and into a fucking fire hydrant -- or some other explosive metaphor.
Oh, I want to feel a rush. Like we used to. Slam on the gas pedal, and don't stop for anyone.
He ran through the red light the same way he ran his fingers through her hair: absentmindedly -- too bad his subconscious never took roll call. He pressed against the curb the same way his chest pressed against her spine: hard, fast, and furious -- at a speed of 55 moans per orgasm.
"That was a close call."
Shut up and drive.
Blood spilt from his skull the same way semen-flavoured lies spilt from her lips -- isn't it uncanny how close split and spilt look? Nothing's off-game with a cracked skull or stale mattress. I guess one could call it a 'head-on collision with Death', so long as 'head' is used in the right context...
I never said to fucking slow down. Get your foot off the brakes.
"Yes, sorry, but navigating the curves of the street has lost its thrill."
Just shut up and drive me wild.
The windshield smashed and glass cut his throat the same way she cut his hair -- but never his strings. He crashed into a semitruck the same way he crashed into her bones: five seconds of consciousness, then waking up in a hospital or a coffin -- if it's the former, they'll be back in another nine months; if it's the latter, well, let's hope no one crashed the funeral...
--
So the Sun doused itself with tears, the Moon (stricken with tumult) lit itself on fire, and the silhouette of an ambulance rained from the cataclysmic anomaly of a carcrash romance.
--
Drive faster.
"But this is as fast as I can go." He spun the wheel the same way he spun his tongue in her mouth: recklessly -- too bad it's not spelt 'wrecklessly'. He sped across the bedspread boulevard with one hand steering the car and one hand steering the course of his life off the road and into a fucking fire hydrant -- or some other explosive metaphor.
Oh, I want to feel a rush. Like we used to. Slam on the gas pedal, and don't stop for anyone.
He ran through the red light the same way he ran his fingers through her hair: absentmindedly -- too bad his subconscious never took roll call. He pressed against the curb the same way his chest pressed against her spine: hard, fast, and furious -- at a speed of 55 moans per orgasm.
"That was a close call."
Shut up and drive.
Blood spilt from his skull the same way semen-flavoured lies spilt from her lips -- isn't it uncanny how close split and spilt look? Nothing's off-game with a cracked skull or stale mattress. I guess one could call it a 'head-on collision with Death', so long as 'head' is used in the right context...
I never said to fucking slow down. Get your foot off the brakes.
"Yes, sorry, but navigating the curves of the street has lost its thrill."
Just shut up and drive me wild.
The windshield smashed and glass cut his throat the same way she cut his hair -- but never his strings. He crashed into a semitruck the same way he crashed into her bones: five seconds of consciousness, then waking up in a hospital or a coffin -- if it's the former, they'll be back in another nine months; if it's the latter, well, let's hope no one crashed the funeral...
--
So the Sun doused itself with tears, the Moon (stricken with tumult) lit itself on fire, and the silhouette of an ambulance rained from the cataclysmic anomaly of a carcrash romance.
Literature
my five year plan
day one
at least once a day, I mistake a boy for a girl. the truth could take five years to write, and I think it probably will. at least once a month, you mistake my "i'm okay"s for "okay, I'm not doing so good"s. this is a matching test. this is a matching test without a word bank. this is sucks-to-be-you-because-you-didn't-study-you-spent-your-night-being-a-manwhore-again. let me know if you're really satisfied with fractions of many girls as opposed to the entirety of me that I'm offering to you.
month three, week two
I'm unsatisfied with my eyebrow arches, my jaw line, my cheekbones, and having someone care so much one minute and comp
Literature
the manhattan skyline
he's in my tent and we've ripped out our eyes. it's my cheek on his cheek and his pants on my clothesline. we are painting on our faces with the tips of our hair. he turns to me and he says, "the most beautiful things are the things we can't see." I am putting our eyeballs in my pocket and he says, "your picture is pretty."
we've stopped breathing and we're lying on our backs in the garden. there's soil in our fingernails and we're misinterpreting each other's words, but it's better this way. they told us to fuck off, so we did, and now we're here.
we are tasting each other's lips because we want to know what a kiss would be like. it's like
Literature
roadsigns.
i.
i have searched maps, road signs,
songs, hearts. i have opened my eyes
and my hands to the rain, fairytales
singing in my ears. i have closed my eyes
and let my nightmares and demons
find me, i have
screamed on the insides, heart
barely beating. i have dreamed
of my own destruction, whispered
into the silence, prayed for the answer -
ii.
could i ask you for one last favor?
when you're sad, remember the way
i would hug you. when you're laughing,
remember that my laughter doesn't sound
the same without yours. when you're lonely,
remember that i tried to fill your empty spaces. remember
that i'd fall for you if it saved you
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this is probably a metaphor, but i have no idea.
i should probably be asleep now, but whatever.
i should probably be asleep now, but whatever.
© 2010 - 2024 ChloroformBoy
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Favourites: 69
LOL
I'm just going to skip faving for now because that's too perfect.
LOL
I'm just going to skip faving for now because that's too perfect.