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Her sister once taught her this game where you could only walk above ground. If not, the consequences would be burning - you'd drown in lava. But after she left her, there were two years of sulking. This little girl couldn't sleep in an empty room, an empty bunk bed. Now once was there room is a lightless playground with the rules of the lava game. If she tripped and fell as she scurried across like a monkey, that would be a longer time waiting for the bathroom. If she fell on a pot, it would be about three minutes for the pain to subside. If she touched the bare floor, that would be two to five minutes to scrub the unknown substances from her feet. Although after the trek, she would reach her father's closet. This was where the Bogeyman lived (or so Daddy said to scare her from walking this way). She would carefully hold the tip of the shirt at the opposite end of the closet and pull herself through as fast as she could. Finally, the first part of her game is over for he next few hours as she opens the bathroom closet door to makeup for the missing restroom door.
Literature
Escrtito #2 que te dedico.
Ya mi mente envenenada con tu persona ni siquiera puede recordar la razón del por qué estos sentimientos tan destructivos que siento por ti. Ni siquiera sé si tienen sentido mis palabras, cuando hablo de ti me siento como una loca enjaula. Mi locura es el amor que me provocas y mi jaula el deseo que no sacio. Me siento como una estúpida porque me tienes a tus pies y lo sabes, lo sabes porque mi actitud incontrolable te lo demostró. Hay algo que si recuerdo, aquel primer día de clases, aquel sol de 8am que encendía tu pelo color caramelo, aquella mirada profunda atrapada en el vidrio de tus lentes, las vuelta
Literature
Adios
Son las seis de la mañana y el aire comienza a enfriar los cuerpos que se encuentran en el andén; apenas es verano pero el frío no perdona a los foráneos. Vapor sale de las ventanas que se encuentran junto al viejo reloj que hace mucho dejó de emitir el tic tac que anunciaba el próximo llegar de los convoyes. El concreto del edificio hace que las plataformas luzcan más frías y lúgubres de lo que deberían. Gris y noche hasta donde alcanza la vista. Los olores de la tierra empapada por la lluvia aún cuelgan en el aire esperando quien los acoja.
Las máquinas estáticas que esperan
Literature
Real Estate
The cost of intellectual property has gone up.
I can already feel the ideas curdling like milk,
Strings of silver silk lining
Tangling it up so neatly--
A package for the loan-shark in my bed in the morning.
A message to my lover, to whom I owe such a debt:
All you ever do anymore is take.
My poems crumble at the touch,
Fading into the clusters of Sunday brunch and Family Guy reruns.
What's the price of the two seconds of quiet
Without a pile of unfilled lines awaiting my autograph
Ruffling through the papers you'll have me sign-
What wouldn't I give to sign with the devil, over you...
Teetering on the corner of thought,
My pen limp and b
Suggested Collections
"Welcome To My Life" by Simple Plan got me thinking... People may understand but the experiences are never the same. Listeners don't quite know his life, but they may relate to some of the lyrics he sings. Everyone is individual. I don't like when someone acts like their life is so terrible that their life is the only bad one. (And I admit to doing that at times because there's just some things that you absolutely doubt anyone has ever known... But that doesn't your life is the worst among all.)
© 2014 - 2024 LMW-The-Poet
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