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Literature Text
This is it.
The final one.
Always thought I'd never have a final one..that there'd always be more to write..but I know that this is going to be the last.
Because, basically, in the end, Love fucks you over just as much as any other emotion will. Just as much as any other human will. In the end, no matter what, love will abandon you and not look back. It'll walk out of your life and leave you there, empty, a shell of what you once were. What do you do now? The emotion which set the course of your life has now gone....there is no path to follow...no route to take. There is nothing but an empty heart, and a head full of memories that never were.
Love leads you along, leaving a trail for you to follow, but when the trail stops, it is nowhere to be found. It's gone, just like that. The trail stops, the leading stops, but you remain. You know what has happened. You feel the pain left behind. But Love just walks on away, off to find someone else to toy with, to torture.
So why bother with it? Why bother letting it into your heart to being with. Once you know once what can happen, why make the same mistake again? There is no reason to, so don't. Don't let it back. Leave it to stay outside your heart, leave it to be spurned.
In summary, Love is just a lie, something conjured up by humanity to give us all a false sense of hope.
The final one.
Always thought I'd never have a final one..that there'd always be more to write..but I know that this is going to be the last.
Because, basically, in the end, Love fucks you over just as much as any other emotion will. Just as much as any other human will. In the end, no matter what, love will abandon you and not look back. It'll walk out of your life and leave you there, empty, a shell of what you once were. What do you do now? The emotion which set the course of your life has now gone....there is no path to follow...no route to take. There is nothing but an empty heart, and a head full of memories that never were.
Love leads you along, leaving a trail for you to follow, but when the trail stops, it is nowhere to be found. It's gone, just like that. The trail stops, the leading stops, but you remain. You know what has happened. You feel the pain left behind. But Love just walks on away, off to find someone else to toy with, to torture.
So why bother with it? Why bother letting it into your heart to being with. Once you know once what can happen, why make the same mistake again? There is no reason to, so don't. Don't let it back. Leave it to stay outside your heart, leave it to be spurned.
In summary, Love is just a lie, something conjured up by humanity to give us all a false sense of hope.
Literature
The Truth
I never did
let you
go.
I just switched hands.
Literature
just realign our hearts please
This is me meeting you more than four years ago.
The weather was colder than it should have been with furls of wind wrapping around us. Those stubborn gusts had picked up a multi-chromatic array of leaves and tiny particles of dust, which whipped around making the whole world glitter. Your hands were in your pockets but your eyes never left my face. It was a Saturday and I was chewing my lip, trying to figure out what was playing behind all this silence. Shutting my eyes tightly, I rearranged a mess of thoughts to align our heartbeats. Standing on tiptoes, I felt your breath sweep across my face and our lips meet in the middle. I kept hopin
Literature
shove a paintbrush up your ass
you fucked my heart
like a colouring book:
blank pages, ripped,
thrown across the outline
of the bed or the balcony,
contamined by a chunk of green wax
scribbling a monochromatic platitude.
trace the veins with a felt-tip marker;
maybe a ballpoint pen the size of the
pacific ocean, the colour of the moon;
maybe an empty crayon box beneath
a toddler's pillow fort --- that kid, you
stole his crayons to colour something
else you stole. but he couldn't colour
in the lines, and neither can you. you
cut them, lying all the way to the front
of the queue. you cut the silhouettes,
the ones you're too l
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The last one of these I'll be writing
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Comments2
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Aww, why end on the pessimistic? Such an anti-climax! I suggest a fifth of vodka and a re-write.