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Literature Text
My air is made of mercury. It's silver and it glistens. Breathing in is fatal, but I must. And, as I kneel before your headstone, I grasp at the air. Hoping it will release me. Glistening, it slips between my outstretched fingers. Away. Away. Collapsing, the last thing I see I pass out, are little shining bubbles erupting from my mouth.
With a start, I awaken. Wildly I kick at the bed sheets, and whip my head about, looking for you. You lie, still sleeping, beside me. Instantly I calm down and breathe again. There is no tombstone. No mercury. With a smile creeping in on my face, I sink into the pillows and fall – once more – into sleep.
We are both alive. We are both well. The air is breathable. Relax.
With a start, I awaken. Wildly I kick at the bed sheets, and whip my head about, looking for you. You lie, still sleeping, beside me. Instantly I calm down and breathe again. There is no tombstone. No mercury. With a smile creeping in on my face, I sink into the pillows and fall – once more – into sleep.
We are both alive. We are both well. The air is breathable. Relax.
Literature
Chemical Attractions, Part I
We can learn a lot from salt.
The chlorine atom is fundamentally lacking, longing to fill that gaping hole in its valence shell, and those bright bits of energy dancing in amorphous clouds around a sodium atom are just too tempting for the poor chlorine to resist. Chlorine probably knows that it has no claim to those electrons. It might lie awake at night for days or weeks in a fit of conscience, seeking alternatives before sending out tentative feelers and inviting Sodium to join it for coffee... It's a romantic comedy in minature, and I think that we can skip over the montage of dates and dinners and late nights on the couch in front of a
Literature
icarus.
envious of the birds, i built wings..
my knees ached with anticipation.
jealous of their ability to soar, i too, soared
it seemed the butterflies in my stomach lifted me.
greedy for more than just that, i flew higher.
with every flap of my wings, the sun grew larger.
and for my greed, my wax wings melted,
i plummeted down to the sea below.
as i fell, i knew:
i was never a bird, i would never fly.
i should have listened.
Literature
You Are Beautiful
Am I fat? Am I ugly? Am I stupid? Am I hated? Am I a failure? Am I loser? Questions. Questions we ask ourselves, questions others make us think about. The kind you ask yourself as you stare in your bathroom mirror, wondering if what they say is true; wondering if what you're thinking about yourself right now is the truth. You'll try and push your stomach in, you'll try and hide your spots, hide the wrinkles that you think you see. You will do all this and pretend; pretend to be different, pretend that this person you're imagining is who you should be; is a person better than who you are right now.
Before you know it, you're looking at those
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I picked up my french folder. Then got distracted.
© 2011 - 2024 Peghan
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This is one of those pieces that you start reading it casually, and by the end everything has ceased to exist around you. Magnificent work!