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Literature Text
I would like a private word please.
You tell us you are personal and immanent, but at the same time we are shown that we are disposable and abortive to you. Unwillingly dragged into this alcoholic world by the crown, from that lucid dream we should have resided in, I have to ask the question that sits predominantly at the front of my consciousness. Can we believe in that which cannot make up his mind?
Similar to foxes, we are haunted daily and hysterically I screech your words into the nightmare. Rebelliously I take my pen to the steadfast pillar you planted, concentrated in front of us. Innate whisperings guide my movement, barely heard over the animal dim that you designed - mechanical in nature. As I carve my many questions into your goodness, my eyes fall over the distinguished tributes you gave to us. You are apathetic to everyone and as I sit in the dark corner with the rest of my people, drenched in alcohol and ethanol, with powder on my face and up my nose, shivering in winter's cold as accepted calamities crush us, I scrawl over the righteous paper and acknowledge I do not believe.
You tell us you are personal and immanent, but at the same time we are shown that we are disposable and abortive to you. Unwillingly dragged into this alcoholic world by the crown, from that lucid dream we should have resided in, I have to ask the question that sits predominantly at the front of my consciousness. Can we believe in that which cannot make up his mind?
Similar to foxes, we are haunted daily and hysterically I screech your words into the nightmare. Rebelliously I take my pen to the steadfast pillar you planted, concentrated in front of us. Innate whisperings guide my movement, barely heard over the animal dim that you designed - mechanical in nature. As I carve my many questions into your goodness, my eyes fall over the distinguished tributes you gave to us. You are apathetic to everyone and as I sit in the dark corner with the rest of my people, drenched in alcohol and ethanol, with powder on my face and up my nose, shivering in winter's cold as accepted calamities crush us, I scrawl over the righteous paper and acknowledge I do not believe.
Literature
What would you do?
Touch the ice feel the cold
Tell me are these things real that I hold?
Is this love actually surreal?
Do any of us really feel?
Is this life all just a dream?
Are we waiting for the death of everything?
Are we one day going to wake up and be ten years old
Sitting there singing the songs we used to know?
Then we will wake up once again
And we will find that we never had a friend
There was never a me and you
And we never went through the steps of love and lose
So tell me what would you do if there was never a me and you?
Would you fall into an abyss remembering the things we used to do
falling into a trance wishing only for a s
Literature
a nonymous confession, please.
The last time I wrote about you,
the only time I wrote about you,
I could still remember what your
voice sounded like. Now I'm just
peeling bandages off my sleeves,
pretending I can laugh about my
wounds in a year or so.
But I only have courage
when there's a "dis" in
front of it. Like the "dis"
in disappointment. Are
you disappointed? Not
as much as I am
humiliated, ashamed,
self-afflicted secrecy;
i call deliberate embarrassment.
you know,,, i'm the kind of kid
that never undresses his scars.
Literature
I Used To Be
Our toes are making tidal waves in the water, dusk-dazed legs dangling from the pier, as she rests her head on my shoulder. Hair the color of cedar bark, and as fine as spider silk, tickles my chin, as she lifts her cheek.
My eyelids, pinned down by fireflies and dying embers, open sleepily, and I scan her body, a slender silhouette against the burning sunset. "I used to be a mermaid." Her lips, the pale pink of a catfish belly, whisper to me, as fingertips brush the white tips of persistent waves.
I can't manage more than a drowsy, "Oh?" captivated by the curve of her back, bent so can whisper to the waves, and the quiet melody she produce
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Since I am not a dA Premium member, I will have to do it here...
So...
I am in love with your vocabulary, it is so adequate for this, err, fragment I should say? Anyhow, I love the vocabulary.
I personally love the part of the sentence that goes:
"...I screech your words into the nightmare." Ten out of ten on this one.
I am startled by what you are saying, but please, don't take this as a bad thing. It is a very interesting piece: you've got a way with words that is enviable.
Kudos
So...
I am in love with your vocabulary, it is so adequate for this, err, fragment I should say? Anyhow, I love the vocabulary.
I personally love the part of the sentence that goes:
"...I screech your words into the nightmare." Ten out of ten on this one.
I am startled by what you are saying, but please, don't take this as a bad thing. It is a very interesting piece: you've got a way with words that is enviable.
Kudos