literature

He's So Gay... He's So Very Gay

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Literature Text

I catch myself staring to long into his eyes
Getting lost in a new world
Where you and I are one,
Chained and bound to a life of mystery,
To a life of undeniable agony
And pleasure, like a rainbow in the dark
Around the precious moonlight,
Searching for treasure only to be mocked by mimics
Taking my heart and tossing it away to another,
I think, surely he'll notice
But he's an empty shell,
A shell of armor, haunted by a knight
One who's only remembered in stories lost to your grandma,
In books stained by coffee
From mornings that felt too long,
Built up in painful backstories only pieced together from
Too many undesired interactions with people only
Vaguely implied to be important, nudged in the proper direction
They push us together,
The hero and his eternal partner
Whether we asked for it or not
Whether you asked for it or not
Whether I asked for it or not
His eyes sparkle under the dying fluorescent lights
Flickering at the sound of another pop quiz
What a mess, what a mess,
I'm sweating like crazy,
He had to have known
Is he counting tiles? Counting bricks? Counting
The endless number of pages left to read,
The hero is rising
Ready to face any foe, himself alone
Himself, included
The hero is rising
Thinking of letters from lost loves,
Lighting candles of thought for the
Loveliest girl back home,
Who's hair sparkles in the night,
Who's teeth shine a bright, longing white
Who's eyes explode with the purity of light
Wait for him, darling
Wait for him
Wait for ME,
He gets up. Talks to her. Walks away.
I've lost my sight again,
And a woman mumbles on and on
More excited than she has any right to be in a hopeless attempt
To keep hopeless minds on target
It's all fallen apart,
I'm waiting for you! Oh, captain!
How I've waited so long alone,
At the highest hill, staring out to the emptiest sea,
How apart this sink fueled ocean has us,
This hall filled of nobodies and nothings,
Not even a window seat is enough to distract this prison,
But I know, my captain, you will return to me,
You will return to me,
You will return to me,
I repeat, again and again,
Staring to the clock,
To the vicious ocean waves,
That have swallowed you whole
Without warning, without a word
The bells are ringing,
And the town gathers round,
The valiant captain, and his ship,
The hero lost at sea,
Tears are shed silently,
None stronger than mine,
Everyone leaves without a word,
Quickly, to hide their fears,
I know it true, you'll return again, soon--
Let's think again,
My ghost of true love,
In your eyes, a thousand stories,
And this the drollest of all
the title isn't an insult so much as a description of myself.
My throat hurts and I keep sneezing super cutely and school's been closed forever so I feel like I have nothing else but the power of writing at my disposal.
I'm sorry if this isn't painfully obvious, but this started out as me just being metaphorical and turned into me thinking about my eccentric English teacher and then thinking about the stories I think up in there. So, it's like, the stories you imagine when your trying to distract yourself, often inconsistent. I like it more than my initial idea.
I'm sorry if it makes the title misleading, but it's certainly as it sounds. A boy is the I. I don't often define the I, but it's definitely a boy in this scenario and I'd rather not have anyone interpret it any other way.
© 2015 - 2024 MountainMew
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