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Literature Text
"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-wearing
Briefcase bearing
Rests her eyes in the daily jam
On her way home from work.
A teenage girl
Her father at the wheel
Listens to her white Ipod classic
Her arm against the window
Holds
One bracelet
One million
Tiny
White
Scars
A man laughs on his headset
An old woman
Laden down
With the bags under her eyes.
So many lives
So many stories
Poor Michael
He rubs his eyes
And looks at the sea
Of red lights ahead
He blinks.
"Your life can change in a second.
The moment you take your eyes off it,
It falls away…"
He opens his eyes.
He tries moving his head,
But the pain running down his body
Prevents the simple action.
He hears screaming
Sees lights
Blinking on and off
A bloody briefcase
Lies open on the road ahead
An Ipod lies smashed in a pile of glass
And a phone headset
Is just visible
Behind the ear
Of a mangled head
What a waste.
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-wearing
Briefcase bearing
Rests her eyes in the daily jam
On her way home from work.
A teenage girl
Her father at the wheel
Listens to her white Ipod classic
Her arm against the window
Holds
One bracelet
One million
Tiny
White
Scars
A man laughs on his headset
An old woman
Laden down
With the bags under her eyes.
So many lives
So many stories
Poor Michael
He rubs his eyes
And looks at the sea
Of red lights ahead
He blinks.
"Your life can change in a second.
The moment you take your eyes off it,
It falls away…"
He opens his eyes.
He tries moving his head,
But the pain running down his body
Prevents the simple action.
He hears screaming
Sees lights
Blinking on and off
A bloody briefcase
Lies open on the road ahead
An Ipod lies smashed in a pile of glass
And a phone headset
Is just visible
Behind the ear
Of a mangled head
What a waste.
Literature
truths
i.
there are 2 things that not even the most
forceful of rains can cleanse me of:
-memories
-mistakes
ii.
sometimes, i feel like a caged lion.
only with a lot more impatience
and a lot less resilience.
iii.
i have yet to discover what it means to be content.
i am either too stagnant or too fluid.
no middle ground.
iv.
i have mastered the art of leaving.
it's the idea of moving on that still haunts me.
v.
i fear that the light in my eyes is so dim that it will burn out
before even i have a chance to see the world with it.
vi.
i am not as clever as i pretend to be.
vii.
someone needs to teach me that
i don't need reassurance; i
Literature
Mirror Mirror
I stood in front of an unfamiliar mirror
It wrapped around me, showing three angles.
Stark walls with only hooks to hang clothing.
I strip to my bra and panties
Frowning as I glance in the mirror
I stepped onto the viewing platform
Next to naked; feeling exposed and vulnerable
I look into dark blue-green eyes
They stare back at me blank, in a scary way
My eyes move down, frown deepening
"What happened?" Escapes my lips
My skin is a battlefield, it's so obvious I'm loosing
I've been consumed, what isn't red and fresh
Is varying shades of pink and purple, colors of scars
Mo beautiful white skin anymore
I gingerly shrug on a lose
Literature
The Pain Of Anothers' Choice
The scars I wear come with a label of blame,
The words; you and I fuse, they have become that same,
Calenders have been replaced, time lost,
The scars I wear, my love became the cost,
Love became care then eventually the ability to tolerate,
One action over time, blurred the gap between love and hate,
Scars are given life in a distant room,
Creating an idea for most; the desire of a nameless tomb,
The blood I fail to see, the sensation remains in sight,
The blood must have ran free, the swaying tongue I chose to bite,
My family is surrogated, a sibling remains with me,
The smile she hides behind is printed, a reality is key,
One o
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100 Theme Challenge - Drive
I wrote this while watching 'Attack the Block'
So please have low expectations!
I wrote this while watching 'Attack the Block'
So please have low expectations!
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