You Don't Have To Burn Books To Destroy A Culture. Just Get People To Stop Reading Them.

Sweetness 4 You

the fates can't let us collide

you see

I'm cursed

my days filled with anxiety

but your voice

god, your voice

it lingers in the marrow of my mind

like a prayer never answered

like worship turned wound

an altar trembling in your shadow

i know it's hard for you now

so collaps into me

drown me sweetly

steep into my very being

my body and soul is all yours

not even the holy dare to enter

untouched even by the divine

do you think

"would their eyes forget me

if i buried myself beneath the waves?"

I know

you do

you wear it like skin

but my love, your fate is a prophecy

they would go blind

before they ever looked away

they would die for you

bleed for you

the heavens would fight

for an eternity

to claim your darkness

and to breathe YOUR NAME once

though the gods themselves choke on it

I do not believe there is a more dangerous and destructive force in all the world than hope, but I do not believe there is a more necessary or perfectly beautiful one either.

Tyler Knott Gregson

so soft it hurts

The flowers inside of me are withering,

Blues, pinks, and purples—

All fading away.

Where did the time go?

I’ve watered the garden within me,

Ive been vigilant.

So why?

Tell me why the colors are vanishing,

Tell me why I am fading away,

And listen before I go.

Tell me of the times I was vibrant inside,

Remind me of my favorite songs,

And all I used to be infatuated with.

Plant a new garden inside of me,

This time, you can have the seeds

And the watering can.

For I do not trust myself with them anymore.

I wish for bluebells

And lilac petals this last time around,

Then I will finally be able to rest.

My mind holds the weight of

Long sleepless nights.

Each night I

Wait there to be taken,

By the space between the blinks,

Into colours i can only

Hope to think

I could imagine,

Where life is more, and

Where sleep is less

Than a reprieve.

She was never mine.

Not even in dreams,

where shadows lie softer than truth.

But I love her

like a noose loves the neck...

tight, desperate,

aching to belong.

She moved through me

like winter in old bones,

slow, cruel,

reminding me I’m still alive

only to feel the cold.

I gave her a love

like a blade gives mercy;

sharp,

faithful,

and never asked for.

She was the war I bled for

before the first shot was fired.

And I...

I was the wound

that stayed open

long after she was gone.

-Cyrus K.

2 April, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

We scroll past

starving children

to buy shoes we don’t need

and call it life.

Babies are born

with lungs full of poison,

their bodies warped

by toxins we dumped for profit.

Mothers wrap sons

in flags

like it softens

the sound of a coffin closing.

We skin the earth

for gold and oil

and hang it on our necks

while forests burn

and oceans bleed.

We worship Gods

but not Their creation.

Pray louder

than we love.

Animals scream in silence.

Children rot in camps.

Water is sold.

Air is dying.

Truth is filtered.

Kindness forgotten.

We kill over dirt

though we are made of stars.

We hoard

while others die thirsty.

This is not a world,

it is a graveyard

we are still digging

with our eyes wide open.

-Cyrus K.

She believes she knows my ache,

she thinks she understands my sorrow,

because once, she too was broken.

My pain is

a slow implosion,

a daily funeral

with no mourners,

a storm I must swallow

so she may walk beneath clear skies.

She remains with another,

while I cradle her chaos in the dark,

I try hold her world steady,

bleeding in silence,

so she never sees the stain.

Quietly tearing at the seams

just to keep her whole.

I laugh when I want to scream.

I smile so she can cry.

I disappear so she can shine.

And each day,

I wake inside a coffin

just to hold her hand.

This doesn't feel like love.

This is a man burning

so she may feel warm,

and never knowing

that the smoke

is me.

-Cyrus K.