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Literature Text
After the middle, before the
End-to-end the sticks all lie, in neat rows I pass them
Bye, goodbye, the children wave, in the endless
Daylight is gone now, with nowhere left to
Running from your thoughts when there’s no one left to see
Though the open door now, into the room of
Doors all creak and whisper, their voices are
Alive and well, you see me, with not a single
Scars are just the memories of battles with your
Self-sacrifice is crucial, in the times of stress and
Taxes are a bother, so all the parents say, so babble on my dearest, onward to your
Gravely I inform you, we’ve only just begun, and random is a virtue when you’re the only
One thing they have noticed, was when you stop to stare, but never seem to
Sharing our opinions is often hard to do, but once it starts it’s hard to
Cease your endless drabble, beginning middle end, the words will stop and
Stutter out the context, the is no more to say, just the before and my
After the middle’s written, before the stories’ end, this all just equals random in your head
End-to-end the sticks all lie, in neat rows I pass them
Bye, goodbye, the children wave, in the endless
Daylight is gone now, with nowhere left to
Running from your thoughts when there’s no one left to see
Though the open door now, into the room of
Doors all creak and whisper, their voices are
Alive and well, you see me, with not a single
Scars are just the memories of battles with your
Self-sacrifice is crucial, in the times of stress and
Taxes are a bother, so all the parents say, so babble on my dearest, onward to your
Gravely I inform you, we’ve only just begun, and random is a virtue when you’re the only
One thing they have noticed, was when you stop to stare, but never seem to
Sharing our opinions is often hard to do, but once it starts it’s hard to
Cease your endless drabble, beginning middle end, the words will stop and
Stutter out the context, the is no more to say, just the before and my
After the middle’s written, before the stories’ end, this all just equals random in your head
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A stream-of-consciousness poem for 'modernism' in Creative Writing II.
It is kind of in the same end-to-start pattern as the song Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches by Emilie Autumn.
It is kind of in the same end-to-start pattern as the song Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches by Emilie Autumn.
© 2013 - 2024 Ender-Sammi
Comments12
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I like it. i like how it feel really disjointed and unfinished, but at the same time runs together really well! Makes me feel like I really know what you're thinking.... (Is that a good thing XD)
Good job.
Good job.