ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
A miscarriage of unwritten words:
she washes lead streaks
from the side of her hand,
quicksilver water spiraling
down the bathroom sink.
she washes lead streaks
from the side of her hand,
quicksilver water spiraling
down the bathroom sink.
Literature
laundry lines
I.
when the boy drawn to priesthood kissed me, his mouth burned.
with triple-layer onion skin and a crucifix tongue, he tumbled
down from a cloud at 9 and snapped his legs in half.
for six nights, the siren sounds bled into mourning.
II.
all great men are bound to fracture. when a bone twists into fury,
breathe sharply through your nose – three times like siren song –
and recall the scent of your mother’s perfume.
III.
we hang wet clothes in the closet in the habit of mistaking
good men for heroes. for so long, i have not had a hero.
my father stomachs the blow of scarred mouths and ambulance
bells. the boy cloake
Literature
under the unders
lately i’ve been under the unders,
which is to say lately i’ve been hosting the ghosts
of everything i’ve ever loved and that silence gets to you,
you know, it tears you like the idea of something horrific
and before you know it, your entire existence is
a fresco of maybes and apologies and snapped skulls
and by snapped skulls, i am alluding to the notion that this sterile noise,
this silence, drives you crazy. once, a man told me that boredom
has its holy uses and i laughed at him and the rush of nostalgia
that immediately followed was the worst melancholy,
let me tell you, it was like feeling each of your trillio
Literature
words are always underdressed
my mother tells me i am too deep for myself.
i sit with blankets wrapped around
my shoulders and i tell her
of how amazing it is to be able to speak -
how i can communicate endlessly
in a bottomless sort of forever.
she looks at me
and i can’t read it. i am told
that my soul has lived for centuries,
has seen ten thousand lives -
but it is encrypted within my ribs,
protected from my eyes.
and i can’t read it.
i tell my mother i get so very bored
and she says this is what life is. i quiet,
quietly, whisper to the window
that there must be something out there to take away
my mind from all of this mundane
nothingness.
my mot
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
© 2014 - 2024 betwixtthepages
Comments23
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Ooooh, wow. This one...whooo...