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Literature Text
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I'm sorry I am like a bandwidth vacuum, running up bills
just as a squirrel runs up a tree
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I'm sorry we don't hold the same beliefs
we never really saw eye to eye
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
No one really is
i'm not normal and i never will be
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I bet you didn't see this coming, me lying on my bed
no pulse and an empty bottle of pills.
I'm sorry I am like a bandwidth vacuum, running up bills
just as a squirrel runs up a tree
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I'm sorry we don't hold the same beliefs
we never really saw eye to eye
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
No one really is
i'm not normal and i never will be
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I bet you didn't see this coming, me lying on my bed
no pulse and an empty bottle of pills.
Literature
Memories
I remember lying in bed with you, longing for a deeper connection. You would always sleep with your back to me, in an almost fetal position, as if you were physically guarding your heart. All I wanted was to touch those scars that ran down the center of your chest, but you told me you were not okay with someone else's heart beating within you so I let it be. The look in your eyes when you woke up in the morning; the sleepy surrealness of a dream playing at the corner of your lips, and the early morning light goldenly surrounding your messy hair like a halo was enough to quench any thirst I had for you. It was enough to resonate in me for a lo
Literature
Bad for Each Other
He's thirty-eight years old and he's driving his girl back to her home, a dormitory on a college campus. He's twice her age but they make love and rest naked under bedsheets and talk about everything.
With the innocence and naivety of her age she looks at him, eyes bright, smile young. He sort of laughs, and they both must understand the ridiculousness of the situation. But they're addicted to each other and make great art (even though it was just an evening to hang out, not the time to spend the night and fuck and enjoy the company more than they should).
A giggle. "Am I allowed?"
She leans towards him, has a flash in her mind of kiss
Literature
Drive
"Are we nearly there yet?" Michael asks
His head pounding
His eyes closing
The parents sigh
Their minds on the map,
The road ahead
The pressure to reach home before nightfall.
His eyes rest on the falling droplets on the window where he rests his head.
The cars behind
Blow their horns
Preventing Michael from falling into the
Dreamworld
In which he is so familiar.
The cars beside theirs,
Identically stranded on the motorway
Each provide a different story,
A different life
A different past and future.
Michael's eyes wander into each of the square windows
Drinking in the wonders
Of Human Life.
A young woman,
Suit-wearin
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Sorry, I am what I am I guess. I can't help myself. Just a sad excuse for a person.
© 2013 - 2024 IntricateSunlight
Comments9
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I wanted to let you know that I used this poems title as a part of a title poem I recently wrote and posted on here. I of course gave you credit and provided a link to your poem on the poems page in hopes to help spread your work. Feel free to check out the poem here: strikethemadness.deviantart.co…