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Literature Text
tu étais la neige et j'étais la pluie.
tu pouvais bien être plus beau
que je ne l'ai jamais été,
et nous étions tous deux de l'eau,
mais tu n'as jamais pu créer
aussi bien que je le pouvais.
tu n'étais que froideur et mort,
et je pouvais me couvrir
de tous mes rêves sans confort,
mais tu réussissais toujours à conquérir
mon cœur et je t'en veux toujours.
mais nature va comme nature veut
et ce fut un triomphe bien triste
lorsque je te détruis, mais je peux
toujours me trouver un autre idéaliste
qui ne me gèlera pas les sentiments.
j'aurais voulu que mon été vienne plus vite.
tu pouvais bien être plus beau
que je ne l'ai jamais été,
et nous étions tous deux de l'eau,
mais tu n'as jamais pu créer
aussi bien que je le pouvais.
tu n'étais que froideur et mort,
et je pouvais me couvrir
de tous mes rêves sans confort,
mais tu réussissais toujours à conquérir
mon cœur et je t'en veux toujours.
mais nature va comme nature veut
et ce fut un triomphe bien triste
lorsque je te détruis, mais je peux
toujours me trouver un autre idéaliste
qui ne me gèlera pas les sentiments.
j'aurais voulu que mon été vienne plus vite.
Literature
wednesday's child
it is the third of october
and i am building a castle for us
out of feathers, bird bones,
ocean waves and library book pages.
anything to keep our feet from
touching the ground.
you are sin, he whispers
and his fingers trail cold fire
down my side, scorching flesh
and freezing bone;
brittle pieces of me shatter
as they hit the stained linoleum floor.
don't wake me from this nightmare.
i whisper a nursery rhyme
as i walk down our
autumn path.
kamikaze leaves fall, trailing
fire as they throw themselves from
the branches, down, down,
to cold pavement below.
your words echo in my mind
a constant reminder
that i am sin
but you,
you were
ne
Literature
Paper-Thin Promises
the first time I caught sight of your
glistening, marble eyes,
I decided you disgust me.
I hate you the way I hate perfection:
merciless, like the snap of mantis jaws.
every fact of you is pretentious,
held high like you raise a middle finger.
You, the artist, always sculpting things,
tried to squeeze my malleable heart like white clay
and stash it in your pocket to rattle with stones.
paint me an unflinching self portrait, my dear:
this skyscraper of a boy shaking with anticipation
to build and destroy, build and destroy.
you sink in tooth and talon at first mention of beauty,
love-biting Aphrodite as though you were equals.
you're a statu
Literature
a quoi ca sert l'amour
She remembered that night better than he did. The way he was dressed, how he talked, what he ate, where he was stayingthe ring on his finger, fresh from January, and it shined under the dim light, her warning sign to stay away; a warning sign she took seriously and knew well. She kept the thought vigilant in her mind with every fidgeted rub to her own naked ringfinger under the table, the ghost of the engagement then and the marriage that never was. Her boyfriend beside her should've been reason enough to resist the obvious magnetism and subsequent temptation, but she found herself captivated by this man of her French homeland, who list
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je fus ton inondation.
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Comments2
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de très beaux passages.