literature

Life's a Simile

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Athagoraphobic13's avatar
Published:
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Literature Text

This life doesn’t fit me right.
It’s like a too small dress
the one hanging up in my closest
that I forgot about until spring cleaning.

There’s not enough ipecac syrup
to eject me out of life’s stomach.
I’m like a disease ravaging your body,
making you itch.

Like I blemish, I exhibit myself at the
worst possible times. You pick away at
me but I keep coming back and
scabbing over.

I’m that wineglass you shattered in a
drunken stupor. You didn’t notice my
absence until you stepped on the shattered
pieces and cursed, then threw them all away.

As the wisps of fog that embrace the ground
in the early morning, I too am fragile
and easily dispersed. As invisible and
void of meaning. Easily forgotten.
Fuck explanations.
© 2005 - 2024 Athagoraphobic13
Comments8
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cezukuu's avatar
Here's a start, if you want to make this better- choose good words to end your lines with. There's better flow and procession, and less thought involved in the mechanics of your writing, when you end a line with either a verb or a noun. Ending with pronouns, articles, and other non-meaty words (being a vegan is no excuse!) gives off an air of unconscious writing- almost as though you weren't -really- thinking.


It stands well as it is, though.