Fantastic Feature Tuesday #21

This is a weekly feature of amazing literature that I come by during my
travels across deviantART. This is only a small sample of a vast amount
of wonderful pieces of literature written by absolutely fantastic
writers. Each deviation was carefully selected from a writer's gallery
based on structure, impact and word usage. I will never feature the
same person twice, so check out these wonderful writers now while you can!



Please this news article so it will reach a larger audience!




Begin LifeIf there are ever again history books, I may be called deranged damaged a destroyer.  But there will not be, no at least none you will read in a matter they call permanent a matter they call remembrance the breaking point of human life.  You will not see me again as I am nor will you have ever not ever not within the confines of your own mind nothing known nothing seen.
The public believes me now when I tell the truth about us our species about just why we suffer like the animals never do.  They have always believed me somewhere somewhen in them as this is the truth they used to never dare to know.  The fact is the undeniable fact is that our memory was a fluke there was never any need for us to know beyond what strictly serves the moment.  This can be changed we can be changed we can be corrected.  Are you with me? they are with me how about you join them.
We will all sleep we will all fall asleep and when we wa :thumb269450366:
twin girls, different in love.She's got her heart on speed
dial, I send mine postcards
every once in a while. She
tells me he's the best thing
to ever happen to her, I
can't count how many days the last
one existed. She loves like
the world is on fire and only
she can put it out. I love like
war, I don't whisper it, I shout.
Her man is all sunlight and
empathy, & every guy I end up with
like a sailboat crashing against
the sea. Her man is all flowers
and undying love, I just can't wait
until the guy I'm with shuts up.
She holds her love in high-esteem,
I throw mine around like a swift
kick to the knees. And she is happy,
happy as can be, and I've got love
by the throat, destiny in between my
teeth, and I just sleep next to any
man who sings pretty things.
Because the biggest difference between
her and me: sometimes she can feel alone,
but she never gets lonely like me.
there is a furnace where your hand should bethere is a story i want to tell,
and like all good stories,
it starts with a death.
london is built on the bones of itself
on the ash and char and time-swallowed screams
on the hollowed out rafters of was
grief is built the same way. there are hands
that are not your hands, there are hands
that are not your hands and that carry the body away
like barrels down the river. your hands are empty,
your hands are shaking and shoved into your pockets
and wrapped around burning hot cups of tea and
clutched into stained cloth that you never intended
to keep.
there is a story that i want to tell but it isn't
my story to tell so i am going to lie and tell you about
november when the fireworks in the garden
caught the grass alight and there was a black streak there
for every year until we left, that stayed though
snow and rain and packets of seeds, of rosebushes
planted right down in the dirt under it
there is a story that i wanted to tell and like
all stories it is about loss, and losing,
f i'll wait for youa cup of tea is like that boy you are trying to find.
warm, just warm enough to turn you pink.
steam tickling your face when you hold the mug up to your lips.
palms feel like he just let go of your hand after walking you home.
a lasting warmth that makes you long for more.
you warm up from the inside out, spirits lifted, a smile teasing the corners of your mouth.
you can't help but yearn for more.
more warmth, more happiness, just more.
- -
but a cup of tea will never break your heart. :thumb287373367:
they'll get it right this timeImpossible demands, like hold
still and stop throwing up and
don't cry.
It can't be a hallucination when
everyone's screaming,
the pretty doctor's hair in her eyes, the nurses'
finger-bruises laddering my skin,
the wet pillow.
How sometimes the only power
is crying, noisy-soft, the waves of blood
gurgling sickly from lips
until someone decides, stop,
enough.
The army retreats and a quiet woman
spends the next hour wiping blood
off my shaking body.
The next day in the ambulance
to the next hospital, bigger and better,
dried red flakes sift from my hair
and I am afraid. Fiction Saved HerFolded in that world beneath the
illness of a lightbulb sun, hands
clammy, body blazing, limbs shivering
together in disharmony. No one laughs
in this ward. The medicine is oozing, an
ominous black liquid, sticky and revolting.
Nauseous, she turns, she turns.
Soundlessly, the words take her. Sweet,
alluring songstress of the sea, or cunning
vampire of the night. It doesn't matter.
Every other has a problem, a daunting
dilemma to dissolve. But her?
Here, observer only. Safe and free, and
everlastingly painless. Every page a
Revolution. Panacea, for the soul.




Happy reading!






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