truth aspirin

when a thing has more perfection so much greater is its pain or pleasure.

Dante Alighieri

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fire & smoke

She was the fire in my chest,
the volcano in thine breast.
Albeit my ice heart,
she burned bright and she burned blue.
She made my glacier part,
And my soul flew.

Mine own lungs’ oxygen kindled her,
as well as the brazier she lodged in my ribs.
Now she burns no more,
She left my core sore.
All that’s left is to vomit ash.

Sometimes at dawn if I am lucky,
I find my soul’s dew,
ruined waters of my spirit.
Even rarer i find a heavy fog,
or a light mist.
As though she burnt bright,
Even if only for a night.
On those days i am a kite.

And she is both the fire and the smoke,
devouring me, lifting me or choking me.

by another name

Hell isn’t at all what I thought,
There is no fire,
And my bed isn’t a pyre.
Not even the slightest ash.
The air is clean,
skies so blue.
Glitter grows on trees,
Money glimmering in the seas.
A heaven with you.
It is a place where even the idea of you,
Could never be.
A hellish heaven so to say,
But some have gone so far as to stay.
I say,
Hell is hell even without the flame,
Hell is hell even by another name.

so neat!

Her heart broke so elegantly,

None of its pieces sliced her as she walked all around it,

She swept it all up,

Tucked it nicely, evenly under the rug.

Then unfolded her polka dot dress, the one with the multi colours.

Climbed up onto the stool and released.

Her bowels didn’t loose though.

Her dress still nice and starchy after a week.

She lived a squeaky clean life,

And her death is just,

Oh so neat!