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Literature Text
I made a deal with the Devil a long time ago,
He gave me my life but I sold my soul,
And now I'm racing the clock
I'm near out of time
Can't let him catch me…
I've been hiding and running
But everyone knows
When you make a deal with the Devil
Everything goes.
And it goes wrong,
If it can go wrong.
I'm near out of breath
I've been trying to hide
But he keeps on finding me…
I've changed my name
I've changed my clothes
I've changed my ways,
My life
My dreams,
I've changed everything…
But he keeps finding me.
He's waiting in the darkness
I can tell
He can smell the sweat on my skin
He can hear the beat of my heart
He feels the way I'm falling apart
And knows I can't keep running for long.
He's waiting for me to stumble
To falter
To dare
To turn around
To fall on my knees
And beg for mercy,
Mercy please.
But I'm not like that…
I'm a lot of things
And not all I love
I'm a broken picture
A tattered smile
I've told a millions lies
And crossed a million miles
Just to get away…
I'm a runaway
He gave me my life but I sold my soul,
And now I'm racing the clock
I'm near out of time
Can't let him catch me…
I've been hiding and running
But everyone knows
When you make a deal with the Devil
Everything goes.
And it goes wrong,
If it can go wrong.
I'm near out of breath
I've been trying to hide
But he keeps on finding me…
I've changed my name
I've changed my clothes
I've changed my ways,
My life
My dreams,
I've changed everything…
But he keeps finding me.
He's waiting in the darkness
I can tell
He can smell the sweat on my skin
He can hear the beat of my heart
He feels the way I'm falling apart
And knows I can't keep running for long.
He's waiting for me to stumble
To falter
To dare
To turn around
To fall on my knees
And beg for mercy,
Mercy please.
But I'm not like that…
I'm a lot of things
And not all I love
I'm a broken picture
A tattered smile
I've told a millions lies
And crossed a million miles
Just to get away…
I'm a runaway
Literature
For --
Bloom, bloom, bloom,
by the window, by the sun,
by the cooling shade of soft green cedar,
bloom, bloom, bloom.
When the chrysanthemums baldly raises
its heavy head to the dim-lit skies,
or cicadas shrill in train-speed rhythm
buzz and rest their wings on your shivering thighs
do not fear the world, the strangeness of Nature,
do not flip your pale small eyelids and waver.
Whenever burly oaks grow, wild-strong branches wide,
and benign barley bend and bow in a smile;
No - this too high; No - this too low,
Bloom, bloom, bloom.
Literature
continual wandering
i'm going 80 on i-80 until i see the sun behind me
leaving the glow of
skylines and streetlights far behind
moving west towards the iowa sky
there's a stretch of the west coast
my feet have yet to roam
and it's been years since
i've filled my lungs
with pacific air
there's a cloud over i-5
passing through portland
a peaceful grey sky awaits me
i'm miles from my bed
but i've never been more awake
the ocean whips waves
in my direction
the pacific spray
rejuvenates me
i feel as young as i did
the first time around
i'm looking at the moon
from a different angle
this may not be home
but in this moment
it feels pretty damn close
Literature
FFM11: Hide The Key
You are supposed to be alone. You are, but the footsteps come from upstairs. The wood groans. It creaks. You are afraid.
The footsteps are too heavy to be Meredith's. You glimpse his face. You know.
You run. You fumble with the wall tile, but there is nothing but empty space. The key should be there. Meredith keeps it here. Always.
You don't see the blow that kills you.
He always thought Gloria was pretty. It's a shame. The boss swore she wouldn't be here.
She runs. She fumbles with a tile on the wall but finds nothing. Must be a panic room, he thinks. Why else would she be so desperate to get inside?
But it doesn't matter. The money's
Suggested Collections
I don't know why, but while working on Terry's Story "Theft", I was inspired to make this poem. This one and "Crossroads" are both dedicated to him and his struggles. Hehe, I love writing about him. Even if he is just a OC, his life is something that inspires me to write. Whatever the reasoning behind it: Here is Runaway.
Feel free to comment~
Some questions for thought:
1.) What kind of image does this poem give.
2.) For readers of "Theft" who are also familiar with Terry in Xohlia, does this seem to portray him well?
-Catsitta
Feel free to comment~
Some questions for thought:
1.) What kind of image does this poem give.
2.) For readers of "Theft" who are also familiar with Terry in Xohlia, does this seem to portray him well?
-Catsitta
© 2011 - 2024 Catsitta
Comments11
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I've never 'played any of my charries against Terry, so I can't really comment on that.
I do like the sense of driving rhythm in the poem, though (I'd say it has something to do with the way each line gets shorter toward the end). It suits the subject. c=
I do like the sense of driving rhythm in the poem, though (I'd say it has something to do with the way each line gets shorter toward the end). It suits the subject. c=