Burning Pages

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Abstract

xels">Pexels</a></figcaption></figure>1 You lay on your couch one evening, reading Lolita because it was my favourite. The lamp flickered at three-minute intervals, the anxiety-inducing red room.2 Pages scattered across the floor, pickings from different books. The potato peeler rested against your knee, ready to pick away at the scabs covering your lips.3 Making impressions on our brains, bringing back t

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he philosophy we knew. Sartre to Camus, Nietzche to Diogenes — we were going to take the world into our hands.4 Carving the space in the woodwork, the glowing worms will bore into the pockets of knowledge that will set us on fire. Our souls burning into the midnight oil.Tagging all who want to join in<a href="https://readmedium.com/things-i-will-make-more-time-for-this-month-fdf5bd816237"> (THIS IS A POETRY PROMPT)</a></article></body>

A Poem

1 You lay on your couch one evening, reading Lolita because it was my favourite. The lamp flickered at three-minute intervals, the anxiety-inducing red room.

2 Pages scattered across the floor, pickings from different books. The potato peeler rested against your knee, ready to pick away at the scabs covering your lips.

3 Making impressions on our brains, bringing back the philosophy we knew. Sartre to Camus, Nietzche to Diogenes — we were going to take the world into our hands.

4 Carving the space in the woodwork, the glowing worms will bore into the pockets of knowledge that will set us on fire. Our souls burning into the midnight oil.