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.the world is protesting;
screaming and shouting and
shaking and heaving, pouring
it's molten red heart out
and i do not want to be laid
to rest with a great grey slab
weighing me down, and i will
not be burned again, so i think
i'd like to sleep in nature's
bed, yeah he can take me, remove
my layers one by one and powder
my bones with lichen
(the world doesn't like waiting for anyone)
.she told me i had soft palms,
i said yeah but i've got a hard
heart, because when
i was young i got given
two goldfish, and one day the
big ate the little
and that's when i learnt i'd
be fucked by the world, it would
do the same thing to me too
(i heard the language of evil and i started to speak it, saw the actions of evil and i started to be it)
.at night, something mad
climbs into bed with me and
i go to war with myself -
words i do not want sit on the tip
of my tongue, so i bite the whole
thing off - crimson droplets fall
from the sky, and i start bleeding
rain - dead babies, their heartbeats
slipping through the cracks in my
floorboards - kettles abandoning
pots and then finding that neither
can function properly - white sheets,
pillowcases, walls and white faces -
a rabid cat clawing at the inside of
my temple, let me out - krill in the
bellies of whales, their hearts like
empty lockets - suffocating in the
silver lining - secrets giggling like
children in my mind, a game of hide
and seek i don't think i want to win -
a lamb frolicks around the body of a
lion and i reap something i never
even sowed in the first place
(you idiot, you idiot, what have you done)
.you should have
emerged with life; your
little roots should have
clutched the soil in their
tiny white fists, and
i did not mean to trample
you, i did not mean to
let my body kill
long as it's
on his terms
and i've a
if i just play
by the rules
.my mother said it's rude
to write in red, i said well
please tell that to my skin
and please, take a look at this
rose on my wrist, at the eight
pints that flow through the stem
(can't drag myself out of my body, so i won't drag myself out of bed)
Member DD + DLD Feature: Dec 15th - Jan 24thHi guys, I want to say sorry for missing the second December and first January issue of the DD and DLD feature. However, I’ve not forgotten you lovelies, I’ve just made a wonderfully long collection for you to browse through for that whole time period!
First up: DLD’s
by BloodshotInk by EmaciatedandEpitaphs
by :devbrokengod-veins: by miserabel
by BloodshotInk by ghearradh
by ghearradh by chewyraezen
by fernknits by DrippingWords
- by roses-and-dreams by :devroses-and-dream
Titles Don't Belong in the First LineTitles don’t belong in the first line,
and poetry is not made of end rhymes.
The ventilated fluorescence and I
flicker at the incongruence
and I want to tell her
sometimes east is left
on the map
if you hold it right.
he called it the art of destruction.she had nice eyes,
the kind you liked to draw
with watercolor tears
and ink like the moon's
he had memorized
her midnight lashes,
the half-closed shutters
and memories locked away
behind a pupil,
and his pencil was the
were the specks in her
irises of emerald
everything she touched
turned into gold,
everything she touched
and rose anew
like budding flowers
after the blizzard.
could never do the same,
but he'd give those eyes away
for a dime apiece,
ignoring the fact
that ebony charcoal
and half-dried acrylics
were all that she would
multii never thought words could die
until i heard them
fall gently from your lips
and plummet to the ground.
i'd always assumed it was your canvas,
but it turned out to be
and now i use it as
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
From Mia, With Lovelast night i caught her with a finger so far down the back of her throat,
she pulled up her thoughts
into all the water
a refraction of light &
suspended until suddenly all the water in her head sloshes
(a faint inner ripple
as the pain leaks out her ears, her nose)
she was gasping to throw herself onto the next comma
she sinks or swims [the cliche, a baracuda, drags her down]
but if this was a love song
she'd hate it
because she's already written 46 on her hand
to remind herself she's only human & a weak gag reflex runs in her family
so walk straight in, my love
& sink to the bottom
six feet under these bulimic stars
Daily Literature Deviations for December 27, 2013Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
Daily Lit Deviations for December 27th , 2013
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by ing this News Article.
Please comment and the features and congratulate the artists!
For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
Lit. Daily Pick Volume 12: December 2013At the start of the new year, I promised myself that I would be giving back to the literature community here on deviantArt again like I used to. Before I began university, I was able to help admin groups that featured deviants on a daily or weekly basis, and I missed having the time and opportunity to help lesser known deviants have their chance to shine. Now that I've finally graduated, I decided upon a small project that I hope to be able to keep up with: My Lit. Daily Pick Project.
What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?
Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I have recently come across that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature are then featured in an art news journal together. The purpose of this daily feature is to help lesser k
Literature Roadtrip Interview Week: Day 6
Once again, I am late to post this interview. But I promise you all that apart from square dancing (yeah, I know), I have been working hard getting everything for Literature Roadtrip 2.0 ready. So, I've been very productive. This just means that you'll get two wonderful interviews today, and that tomorrow is… OFFICIALLY THE LITERATURE ROADTRIP!
BloodshotInk is an absolutely amazing deviant. Her work is beyond inspiring and beautifully written. And she is incredibly nice and kind to everyone in the literature community. Plus, her profile page looks awesome, I'm insanely jealous!
How do you get involved in the literature community?
*Looks blank for a minute* Gosh. Uh. I don't know. I have a variety of different things I play with. I do features, interviews, I help out on groups. I like to run competitions. I've been running l
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More