Patterns

The lines on these wood grain floors show me shapes of madness. My eyes eagerly lose focus, and my demons weave into the patterns. A breath deeper than I expect slides into my chest; it burns with intensity as it makes itself comfortable. I exhale loudly as stars burst on my eyelids, and my heart …

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Collapse

Today you will carry a burden heavier than your hands can hold; it will not relent or diminish through the hours. Your mind will scream obscenities that offer freedom for giving up, and your burning muscles will beg that you do so for fear of collapse. Pity will be your shadow today; anger will be …

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Destruction

You awake from a restless sleep. Immediately you can sense it; there is no safety here. An agonizing lump forms in your throat; anger rolls between your temples like hungry thunder. Aching tension rests between your shoulders, as your eyes struggle to see more than broken shapes. If regret had a taste, it's perched upon …

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Oblivion

You find yourself on a staircase descending into the dark, spiraling wider into oblivion, and no handrails exist to offer support to protect your naivety from going too far. Only the erratic beating of your heart, the deafening quake of your breath lingering in stale air, and the murmurs of raw fear stand against a …

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The Adversary

A single barrier lay before me, and I do not covet its purpose. For on my side of this sheathe, the force of counted breaths alone could topple stone; On the opposite, vast leagues of unsurety farther than eyesight. To step even towards the barrier, my heart disparages my optimism with fervor, And yet I …

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The Balancing Act

Like the pesticides trickle, he’s able and amble to avoid what we all must eventually face. Facetious like liars see faceted storylines, he views like a scared viewer would. Corporal, whimsical, drudgery limits he, stepping a stone with his wobbly flee. But runaway, oh he can’t, he shan’t, shone through a window, like watching TV’s …

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Alliteration for the Illiterates

Basically bursting and burning with bruises from bastards who bash upon beating beliefs, the cowardly musical playwright- he isn’t- wrote a disaster full of disease. The sleaze, as he called it, was free and above the structures of love and a word wasn’t one just to stop it. The copies: they tried to re-create what …

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