ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
This is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.
Jesus,
what would you do
if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.
Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe
you still think of me,
too.
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.
Jesus,
what would you do
if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.
Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe
you still think of me,
too.
Literature
what burns in the fire just ends up as coals.
i hated you because
you could keep quiet
when i couldn't, and the careful
nature you held onto until
the precise & perfect
moment.
it was all i could do
not to explode
but i was still fire
and spread slow,
slick & smooth beneath
your skin
and i kept my tongue still
firmly in my mouth
not letting anything escape
save for tiny breaths
that i was sure
weren't enough to keep
my lungs satisfied
and the fire spread
until i was wildfire
and my bones were kindling
and you just sat there
keeping quiet
while i burned alive.
wondering when you
would ever speak.
Literature
burn with me
i would love to squeeze a story
out of your tongue on
one of our mornings out; i'd be
let inside like quicksand. see, you
don't
really have
a choice.
i would love to act
withdrawn with you, pretension
sizzling at the burn of our
paper cigars, riding boulevard
upon boulevard on a bicycle
fueled with acrylics. i would
like it if you didn't
crumble into an oceanic coma;
your lungs can take
only so much stress.
i digress, lover, or
friend if you haven't sparked
a bonfire in your eyes for me
yet. i heard i'm a great catch
for wanna-be poets; they find
my sp2-hybridized figure, the holy
vessel of Eve's
children. never
mind how we lost Eden
Literature
Skywriter Manifesto
Fold your poems into tiny paper lanterns and send them to the sky.
Light them up and let them go.
Don’t just be a writer.
Be a skywriter
Flying paper planes through restricted air.
Don’t just be an artist.
Be a Styrofoam sculptor,
So that in the event of a flood,
Something you make might keep you afloat.
When people tell you you don’t get gravity,
Tell them no,
It is they,
Who don’t understand
Levity.
Let your words always be buoyant.
Let them be lifeboats blown up by big lungs of helium.
Hollow their bones.
Let them be brittle
But indomitable dirigibility.
Poetry is for the birds.
And if they must come down
Let
Suggested Collections
string theory: you left before you came
© 2013 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments20
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I like this T^T