ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Spring is in the death of me.
I am all flower and no flower. The air too
is complicit in its secret-keeping. All
either or's or either/or. My mouth
tastes like the word “whore.” Gardening day,
the shoots are budding, green onions
must be chopped before they sprout, many
common vegetables are edible when young, grown old
they are poisonous flowers turned to dust, they are
older now. The roots must be too deep in concrete;
the foundations are all coming apart. Leaving
and going. There are houses to be sought, trees
full of paperwork to be filled out. This whole world
is a mesh of leaves, forms, and envelopes. The whole world
tastes of shredded wheat. And I am both ink and combine harvester.
I am all flower and no flower. The air too
is complicit in its secret-keeping. All
either or's or either/or. My mouth
tastes like the word “whore.” Gardening day,
the shoots are budding, green onions
must be chopped before they sprout, many
common vegetables are edible when young, grown old
they are poisonous flowers turned to dust, they are
older now. The roots must be too deep in concrete;
the foundations are all coming apart. Leaving
and going. There are houses to be sought, trees
full of paperwork to be filled out. This whole world
is a mesh of leaves, forms, and envelopes. The whole world
tastes of shredded wheat. And I am both ink and combine harvester.
Scout
Welcome to the tribe friend. Your job is to scout out the locations we will be traveling to in our yearly journeys between seasonal locations.
$10/month
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
Literature
Quiet
One day
I woke up to the sound of breaking.
The fire was outside my window
And the smoke streamed in over my head
And the sirens, oh, the sirens
The red and the blue and the red reflected
On grey and black and grey and death.
I thought about how my heart
Had ached and my lungs had burned
And I closed my eyes.
One day
I woke up to the sound of stillness.
The needle sunk in my wrist
And the blurriness clouded my vision
And the beeping, oh, the beeping
The red and the black and the red smeared across
The white and grey and white and nothing.
I thought about how my mind
Had ran and my muscles had atrophied
And I closed my eyes.
One day
I woke
Literature
In the Mirror
She cracks the door just an inch, peering through the crack into the darkness of the room beyond. Lightning flashes through the window, illuminating vague figures standing still. Fingers twitching, mind racing, heart pounding, she pushes through the door and reaches to grab the nearest figure. The white fabric slips silently off as she touches it, revealing the chair underneath. A wry grin finds its way onto her face and she moves through the room. Dust bunnies run from her falling footsteps, jumping quickly then slowly drifting back to the floor. She slides the cloth from several pieces, a table, a couch, more chairs, a trunk, a vanity.
.
© 2014 - 2024 TheGlassIris
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In