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Let me lick on my wounds a little longer —don’t mistake me speaking out for vomiting words; I just get sick of myself sometimes, especially when my truth belongs to the world. So sing me a lullaby fit for the world’s ending — a song sharp enough to stab every heart. And when the rapture comes, tell me: who’s really playing the chords? By the cord hanging off my skin, this heart is a plug searching for an outlet of love — but we stay electrified by self-hate, skipping good advice with stone ears, hollow eyes, silent tongues and effort set to zero. Hanging around regrets, while a single tear hangs too; old plans become new ideas we once hoped for tomorrow. Unveil my sorrow, ignite my pangs, leave me each morrow — when silent love is killing me, driving me to insanity; you wanted me instantly, and in an instant it was all over. Darling this world is so small, yet people refuse the small talk that actually matters. Let’s clash into each other; crash away from that practiced smile —embrace the present, even if it disappoints us. Clear your skin of familiar wounds; get your lick back from whatever hurt you once, twice, so many times. This is life, foolish children — and life keeps us all fighting to stay alive.
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Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 10:19 AM UTC
Rapture of the Broken
Let me lick on my wounds a little longer —don’t mistake me speaking out for vomiting words; I just get sick of myself sometimes, especially when my truth belongs to the world. So sing me a lullaby fit for the world’s ending — a song sharp enough to stab every heart. And when the rapture comes, tell me: who’s really playing the chords? By the cord hanging off my skin, this heart is a plug searching for an outlet of love — but we stay electrified by self-hate, skipping good advice with stone ears, hollow eyes, silent tongues and effort set to zero. Hanging around regrets, while a single tear hangs too; old plans become new ideas we once hoped for tomorrow. Unveil my sorrow, ignite my pangs, leave me each morrow — when silent love is killing me, driving me to insanity; you wanted me instantly, and in an instant it was all over. Darling this world is so small, yet people refuse the small talk that actually matters. Let’s clash into each other; crash away from that practiced smile —embrace the present, even if it disappoints us. Clear your skin of familiar wounds; get your lick back from whatever hurt you once, twice, so many times. This is life, foolish children — and life keeps us all fighting to stay alive.
OddOdysseyPoet
Written by
27/M/Zimbabwe
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 10:19 AM UTC
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