Nights in the strangeness of being a stranger,
longing for the strangeness of a world that is not strange at all—
a world in which you are at a disadvantage
because of who you are, what you believe, and what you say.
And it persists—everything will persist—beyond the thick darkness
that can be seen in the distance, behind me.
Every would-be saving device inevitably dissolves.
Within these contexts, truths are revealed that must be accepted,
swallowed like bitter morsels of chewed-up ivy.
Ivy is a strange thing to have to chew. It's mildly toxic too, so swallowing those truths like ivy sounds like the poem already knows they'll make you a bit sick on the way down.
Putting the thick dark behind the speaker and still in view is the odd choice here. Behind means you already went through it once.
I’m far too worn down—a disembodied, crumbling mess—
To feel, once again, like you are dying while still alive.
To feel, once again, like you are dying while still alive.
Waking up each morning is not like falling from the sky.
She Received A Message From Her Own Number :
Lucas Bought A Snack From An Old Vending Machine.
The room was spacious, white, and illuminated by large glass windows overlooking the circuit. The desks were arranged like spacious bleachers, each one equipped with notebooks secured to clipboards,…
“… Your smile intrigues me. Marked by that faint blush, which I think is growing deeper at this very moment…”: The gate swung open. It’s her!
Walking on the track during the night, a little dazed by everything that’s been happening in life, it seems foolish, but it isn’t.
Render was about to finish his questions.
Nights in the strangeness of being a stranger,