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 Dec 2013 Luce
David Crum
sentences go off like gunshots.
the smallest of sounds have the loudest of consequences.
whispers make waves.
the quietest of confessions carry the most catastrophic concussions.
words are weapons and our mouths are at war.
 Dec 2013 Luce
Brianna
I could tell you how every stupid Taylor swift song I hear reminds me of you.
Or how I'm drowning myself at the expense of my liver.
I could tell you I'm covering my lips in
Red lipstick hoping someone will call me out one bluff.
I know you'll regret leaving me; you always crawl back with broken promises.
And I could tell you how every east coast band I hear brings tears to my eyes.
I could tell you how winter is the most depressing
Time of the year for me because
Everything I see
Everything I do
Everything I hear
Reminds me of you.
And I just want to tell you one thing...
I am doing in everything in my power
In my heart
In my mind
In my body
To move on from what you ever said
Ever did
To me.
 Dec 2013 Luce
Katelyn
Flower
 Dec 2013 Luce
Katelyn
i know it's hard
to wake up
to open your eyes
to not roll over and
cry yourself back to
dreams you never want to-
you never want to
open your eyes again

i know it's hard
to put on your shoes
to pull on your pants
to hide the marks you
thought you deserved
you never want to
hurt again

i know it's hard
to step outside
to feel the chill of
the winter wind
to feel the chill of
people's words
you never want to
listen again

when your bed was
your only friend
and you shared it with
tears and had parties
alongside razors and
heart breaks and
no comfort

when the parties ended
just before you would have
got the door
broken in

when life gets hard
your tears are your friends
and that's okay
you're okay
the razors are only
just as cold
as the rest of the world

sleep for awhile as
the world will soon realize
you are only a
blossoming beautiful
flower
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
 Dec 2013 Luce
Mathieu Desrochers
B1
 Dec 2013 Luce
Mathieu Desrochers
B1
The color of a slightly tipsy tongue peeling my resolve from my own is that of a winter morning
-- clear and concise in its purpose,
Sending signals to my brain, which, in response,
Transmits slight shivers down my spinal cord,
Raising the fine hairs
Along my smooth skin
--the same relaxed, whispy, ***** that covers tense, terse, and trembling muscles.

The sound of a shirt being pushed
Out of the way;
The sound of pants already crumpled,
Settled,
On the carpet my mother cleans.
That sound that represents
Everything I've ever wanted from nothing
But can not accurately depict
Anything I've wanted from one thing in particular.

Because you are special and
You make me want
And
You make my body tense and
My words short and
My lips loose.
Loose so as to open and receive your secrets given
In
False
Drunkeness
--to allow your breath to absolutely fill
My lungs
As you drag me down beneath the surface
And into the dark.

We are not blind.

Our nerves spark in the darkness,
The area devoid of any light source
save for those that arise from the
friction of skin against skin
and mind against mind,
Ideas crashing and banging together
As they
Escape
From our mouths
During our futile resistance to anything logical
Or rational,
Our selves piloted by the thought of
Unfathomable numbers and equations
That led to this moment
When our bodies feel everything
And our minds feel
Nothing.

We are naked before the eye of the God neither of us believe in.
Published in ASGARD Literary Magazine, 2014.  Received a Scholastic Silver Key in 2014.
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