ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
in a dream.
we find him strung up in our garage
washing line taut. neck bulging.
i covered someone's eyes.
stopped them from remembering,
almost familar features
and blue blue blue blue wide open eyes.
where's someone to cover mine?
i mirror you with swollen throat
my voice thick with blood and screaming.
a painting hung all wrong.
we find him strung up in our garage
washing line taut. neck bulging.
i covered someone's eyes.
stopped them from remembering,
almost familar features
and blue blue blue blue wide open eyes.
where's someone to cover mine?
i mirror you with swollen throat
my voice thick with blood and screaming.
a painting hung all wrong.
Literature
love is coming home--
i don't write about God.
i don't write about God because it's writing about love, it's writing about faith, it's writing about trust and hope and belief and pain, the kind of gut-wrenching betrayal you feel when you've given up and you're waiting for someone to save you, only nobody ever does.
and who else are you going to blame?
it's easy to write about a God you don't believe in. it's easy to pour out all your hate and anger and hurt and deepest, darkest broken fears and fling them from your fingertips and scream, this is not God! it's easy to believe in nothing.
it's not easy to believe.
believing is opening yourself to the pain. it's
Literature
paint.
i told you that i liked boys who smoked cigarettes,
because then i knew that they needed something.
i told you that i liked roses without the thorns,
because then they wouldnt hurt so much when they got picked.
i told you that i liked it when you held my hands
because i didnt feel quite so lonely, not quite.
i told you that i'd love you 'til the stars exploded
and the clouds devoured us- and you said nothing.
you said nothing.
***
(here's a little history.)
in vietnam people hurt other people.
people burned themselves-
(i wish i was that brave.)
they threw chemicals and hid in the ground
and laughed when the others cried.
its
Literature
let's pretend this never happened
because honestly,
i don't know you and this was
just a big mistake, she says
very softly.
the morning sun peeks in
through the curtain as she pulls
on yesterday's shirt and i catch
my last glimpse of her thin
shoulder blades, protruding like
wings about to burst out of their
seams. she won't look at me.
the floor creaks with her weight
as she gathers her things. i've
already forgotten her eyes, wide
with wonder, and her lips, her
slender jawbone. i wish she
would turn around. i try to speak,
but words don't come.
her bare feet pad across the
room and she pauses in the doorway,
head turned to the side, as if listening,
perhaps to my h
Suggested Collections
oh, hello words!
© 2012 - 2024 wordcut-outs
Comments14
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In