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Literature Text
i.
“il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie,”
she says, and i scoff.
ii.
there’s blue welts peppering my cheek
and a thick cut on my upper lip,
bandages over my fists.
“your nose is bleeding,”
he says.
“thanks,”
i say,
“you did that.”
he laughs.
iii.
my nose is still broken,
when his bumps it.
iv.
“i don’t know how,”
i say,
“we got here.”
he laughs.
v.
“of course,”
he says,
“of course i will.”
i laugh.
vi.
my nose is still bent out of shape,
but when my fingers skate over the pages,
“il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie,”
like they skate over twin bands,
i don’t disagree.
“il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie,”
she says, and i scoff.
ii.
there’s blue welts peppering my cheek
and a thick cut on my upper lip,
bandages over my fists.
“your nose is bleeding,”
he says.
“thanks,”
i say,
“you did that.”
he laughs.
iii.
my nose is still broken,
when his bumps it.
iv.
“i don’t know how,”
i say,
“we got here.”
he laughs.
v.
“of course,”
he says,
“of course i will.”
i laugh.
vi.
my nose is still bent out of shape,
but when my fingers skate over the pages,
“il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie,”
like they skate over twin bands,
i don’t disagree.
Literature
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It turns out I wasn’t the only one.
I never told you about the crying or the cutting or the nights I spent awake staring at the bottle of pills. I was terrified it would b
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Seven. Done.
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oct. 14, 2014
oct. 14, 2014
© 2014 - 2024 thepoetboy
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