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Literature Text
The pen is my needle,
the drug is my ink...
Getting so high,
From the words, as I think.
My mind begins running.
My heart starts to race.
My fumbling hands,
Barely keep up the pace,
Of the thoughts that are coming,
So rapidly now.
The words start their flowing,
Not even sure how.
Sometimes the high
Makes me crazy... deranged.
That the words coming out
Are so foreign and strange.
Sometimes so sweet
That I can't help but sigh,
And smile at those thoughts
Thank them for stopping by.
Every once in awhile
The high the ink brings,
Calls into my mind
The most evil of things.
The words hit the paper
So hard and so fast,
Bleeding scenarios
I've often surpassed.
Sometimes my thoughts
Are of death and of blood.
Blackness filling my mind
An emotional flood.
I care not what the high,
When I start to think.
For the pen is my needle...
the drug is my ink.
the drug is my ink...
Getting so high,
From the words, as I think.
My mind begins running.
My heart starts to race.
My fumbling hands,
Barely keep up the pace,
Of the thoughts that are coming,
So rapidly now.
The words start their flowing,
Not even sure how.
Sometimes the high
Makes me crazy... deranged.
That the words coming out
Are so foreign and strange.
Sometimes so sweet
That I can't help but sigh,
And smile at those thoughts
Thank them for stopping by.
Every once in awhile
The high the ink brings,
Calls into my mind
The most evil of things.
The words hit the paper
So hard and so fast,
Bleeding scenarios
I've often surpassed.
Sometimes my thoughts
Are of death and of blood.
Blackness filling my mind
An emotional flood.
I care not what the high,
When I start to think.
For the pen is my needle...
the drug is my ink.
Literature
Cuts
Dyke.
Fag.
Queer.
Words I've come to know as name.
They jeer and they push and they taunt.
I give them no tears, no blood, no hurt.
I remain as sturdy as stone.
Underneath I am crumbling.
Do they know each word is a cut?
A mentally inflicted wound?
With every sharp letter,
I am left with another hurt to heal.
What does it matter?
Why should I care?
Their ignorance should not bother me.
But it does and it will, forever.
I am still a person.
Still worth the attention and voice of any other.
But they don't care.
I'm worthless, useless, beneath them.
I'm gay.
Literature
BB and Rae's first...123 words
"Raven?" Beast Boy asked, knocking on the already-open door of her room. "Can I come in?"
The only response he got was a sob. He walked in to find her lying on her bed, crying.
"I'm so sorry, Beast Boy. It's all my fault." She cried.
"No… it's not. It couldn't have been helped." He sat down on the bed next to her. She sat up.
"It'll be ok, don't worry." He comforted her.
Slowly, she responded, "Beast Boy… I need to tell you something."
"Yes?" He said.
"I… I l-love you," she stuttered.
All of a sudden, they both leaned toward each other. Their lips met. He put his arms around her. Then, he calmly backed away.
"I love you to, Raven."
Literature
Coffee Mugs
It's a man's world,
you can tell
from the dirty coffee mugs,
huddled together on the table.
The lone water bottle stands above them,
imposing, clear and tall, as its owner,
Her pregnant belly precedes her like a shield:
a neon sign flashing "here I am".
In the elevator, two people dare a smile
while they talk of things they know
no-one else cares about.
They wear glasses and awkward clothes.
In this place time hangs like tepid air,
which no fresh wind can ever disperse.
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I have a question: Is it deliberate that the line "Barely keep up the pace" doesn't quite fit the space of the line in terms of syllables?
I ask because it seems a touch of genius if it is deliberate but there's another line "Thank them for stopping by." that also doesn't quite fit the rhythm, at least the way I read it.
I ask because it seems a touch of genius if it is deliberate but there's another line "Thank them for stopping by." that also doesn't quite fit the rhythm, at least the way I read it.