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Literature Text
Society can be many things, like a hydra has many heads.
Society can be the most extensive family tree.
Society can be the most extravagant party.
Society can be the most fearsome of beasts.
Society can be the most compassionate Samaritan.
Society can be a grotesque monster.
Society can be a truly destructive army.
Society can be a virus.
Society is the ultimate torture device.
An iron maiden, rack and a brazen bull all in one.
For me.
Society can be the most extensive family tree.
Society can be the most extravagant party.
Society can be the most fearsome of beasts.
Society can be the most compassionate Samaritan.
Society can be a grotesque monster.
Society can be a truly destructive army.
Society can be a virus.
Society is the ultimate torture device.
An iron maiden, rack and a brazen bull all in one.
For me.
Literature
Ugly.
As a young child, new to the world, pure of it's intoxicating fumes, I remember a tree.
Such an ugly tree I remembered it to be.
It stood tall, creeping a good ways above any of the others, but it was disfigured in many ways.
Its branches were thin and fragile, like the bones of a sickly human, they twisted in retched ways that anyone would think should snap them clean off.
It was pale and grey, standing out among its fellow familiars, never to show the beautiful colors that it must have held within.
Its bark was edgy and course, as if it had survived through one of to many harsh winters, never falling from its place.
And I remember, as the o
Literature
it's not me, it's you
to the most recent douche to break my heart,
i know it’s not your fault. i’ve been told enough times
that the blame lies primarily in the differences between
the two of us. i am not what i seem—you had no idea
what you were signing up for. when i write poems
about lying in bed all day, i am not doing anything
you would classify as fun. i am counting dust molecules
in the air. i am counting out the number of times in a minute
that i think my heartbeat will stutter in its strut. i am counting
backwards from one hundred, breathing out on the evens and in on
the odds. i am counting down the days until you leave me.
don’t
Literature
Perfection.
When you look into the mirror, at your reflection...
That's it.
That's you.
That is perfection.
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Comments4
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society is the sum of all people - maybe if we look at the people and not the sum of them it would be less tedious?