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Literature Text
I blotted my eyes,
And signed your name on my wrist.
- - I sealed it with a kiss - -
Then sang myself a lullaby,
While I waited to be delivered.
I wondered,
If you would cut this thread of mine.
And signed your name on my wrist.
- - I sealed it with a kiss - -
Then sang myself a lullaby,
While I waited to be delivered.
I wondered,
If you would cut this thread of mine.
Literature
The Science of Suicide
i. (subject)
I am hollow bones of a dead bird
singing; decaying disgrace with a turn for
poetic beauty. all that keeps this
decay-ridden chest beating is melodic words, and
nightmares
inside my unseeing eyes
ii. (scientist)
her waking dreams are of
glass monsters eating her freckled
flesh; just to
get the pain out of her skin.
a watercolor artist, she makes do
with canvasses of skin
iii. (subject)
forgoing modesty, my leaf-litter bedclothes reveal
brittle bleached keels and abandoned ribs; remnants of
ships and feathers-
atrophied breasts to be molested
by winter's corpse kisses
iv. (experiment)
she has nightmares made o
Literature
Stitches
Her name is Stitches and I love her.
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.
No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.
I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.
I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.
Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.
From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.
It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any more.
They
Literature
Morphine And Thorns
Morphine & Thorns:
An Edwardian Fairytale
November 20
He came again last night.
That strange creature with the eyes like melted opals, waifish, pale. With an outstretched hand, an impish grin like Peter Pan from the childrens bedtime stories.
She had been taking the chloral hydrate and morphine concoctions diligentlyjust what the doctor prescribedfor a week now. The first night it had seemed peculiar, unnatural; she was never one for medication of any sort, and it had frightened her when the doctor made such a strict point of precise dosage, somehow excluding to mention what exactly would happen if she failed to exercis
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"Dear Atropos..."
Atropos, or Morta in Roman mythology, is one of the three Fates, or the Moraie from Greek mythology.
-Clotho spins the thread of life from the cosmic forces.
-Lachesis measures the thread of life and assigns each man his destiny.
-Atropos, the smallest in stature, but the most terrible, cuts the thread of life with the abhorred shears.
Lachesis measures the thread of a persons life just three short days after they are born (or so it says in some versions).
And Atropos is the one who uses her dreaded shears to cut that thread, and so ending that person's life.
We do not know how long or short our threads have been measured, and therefore Lachesis would not come to our modern minds, nor would her sister Clotho.
But we do wonder, especially in times when we are hanging by a thread, whether we will live or die.
And if our string will be cut.
It is Atropos (Morta) we think of, only, she is to us changed from a crone to a tall, dark robed figure who holds a scythe instead of shears.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
International Association for Suicide Prevention www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis…
Atropos, or Morta in Roman mythology, is one of the three Fates, or the Moraie from Greek mythology.
-Clotho spins the thread of life from the cosmic forces.
-Lachesis measures the thread of life and assigns each man his destiny.
-Atropos, the smallest in stature, but the most terrible, cuts the thread of life with the abhorred shears.
Lachesis measures the thread of a persons life just three short days after they are born (or so it says in some versions).
And Atropos is the one who uses her dreaded shears to cut that thread, and so ending that person's life.
We do not know how long or short our threads have been measured, and therefore Lachesis would not come to our modern minds, nor would her sister Clotho.
But we do wonder, especially in times when we are hanging by a thread, whether we will live or die.
And if our string will be cut.
It is Atropos (Morta) we think of, only, she is to us changed from a crone to a tall, dark robed figure who holds a scythe instead of shears.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
International Association for Suicide Prevention www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis…
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Gah!! Wonderful! That last line was... just great!