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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
April 5, 2011
Dementia by ~fadedmannequin is "a cubism poem" about a point we may all reach someday.
Featured by GwenavhyeurAnastasia
Literature Text
The old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
Literature
Bipolar
I.
A dove into a mirror;
A crow into a tree.
II.
There is a word missing.
Literature
ugly consumption
monday my little girl asked, "what would happen if someone ate
the sun and
how many calories does it have?"
and i wish i could see myself objectively, wish
my skin wasn't worn from
fitful starvation.
have you ever seen your
hands as i do, strange bloated things
in search of bones?
and i wish i could remember when beauty
was a mouth red as pomegranate seeds eyes
like sickle moons. back when it was
more than numbers. ninety-five, eighty-eight.
get down to eighty-five and you will be
beautiful. be
thin and sexless as wet march.
tuesday pa told me: "acceptance ain't something you
can buy at a convenience store."
and i am all ma
Literature
Orchard
Your fingers are guillotines,
purely purposeful machines.
You pluck the apple,
and carve it clean,
find the core,
suck out the seeds.
Take a life
and taste the power,
it's arsenic
and sugar sweet.
You thank God and the devil
with a crooked smile
that the day is young,
and so are they,
and just ripe enough
for you to eat.
Suggested Collections
A cubism poem!
© 2009 - 2024 fadedmannequin
Comments60
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I keep coming back to admire this poem. Good job!