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Through her, I fell in love with the idea of Norway
Of an esoteric land shrouded in stars and mystery
The quaint box-house hid between fjords
On my eyelid silver screen
As my breath slowed and sleep encroached,
Her head held fast against my breast
And I imagined how her closed eyelids flickered
This same idyllic landscape.
I sat up, startled
I stroked her cheek and hair
No longer could I sleep.
How could I?
Yeah, the idea was vague and distant,
However reality still sat there and lovetapped at our jaws.
What are we going to do about:
He who smashes laptops
She who pounds out tears
We who make self-destruction our only ritual?
Hidden in the blackness surrounding
Our eyelid silver screens was, after all,
An apt summary of our present lives:
Scattered beer and liquor bottles,
Glass shards, puke buckets,
Empty matchbooks and soot-stained pans,
Plants of dubious legality
An homage to our collegiate lifestyle transitioning
From acute to chronic
Still we said to ourse
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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