Fantastic Feature Tuesday #23

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!



_{PS. These first two are a collab, so be sure to check them both out!}
home is in the hollow of darkness .collabi stand quivering,
like a candle's flame open
in the winter breeze.
my heart skips
a beat. then another,
and again.
death feels like this, when
you let it creep into your
hollow bones again.
spreading out
like a spider's web,
it catches
everything
big or small before
collapsing.
it becomes true that
you are never freer than
the moment you breathe
your last, and let your
fingers slip through the thin cracks
til you disappear.
forever
lost in eyes of the
forgetful.
so breathe deep young one,
as deep as the hollows of
your lungs allow you.
cut free the tangles
that hold you beneath ever-
shifting tides, and know
it is finally
time to embrace the darkness
that will take you home. home is in the hollow of darkness .collabi stand quivering,
like a candle's flame open
in the winter breeze.
my heart skips
a beat. then another,
and again.
death feels like this, when
you let it creep into your
hollow bones again.
spreading out
like a spider's web,
it catches
everything
big or small before
collapsing.
it becomes true that
you are never freer than
the moment you breathe
your last, and let your
fingers slip through the thin cracks
til you disappear.
forever
lost in eyes of the
forgetful.
so breathe deep young one,
as deep as the hollows of
you lungs allow you.
cut free the tangles
that hold you beneath ever-
shifting tides, and know
it is finally
time to embrace the darkness
that will take you home.
:thumb340010624: White HoleCotton eyelids draw open
and close on summer days, warm
with performance. Curtain call
and lights are in her eyes again,
planets of prospect renewed to life -
my inside-out black hole.
But stars are not stepping stones
too small for feet, rather questions
without answer: asking of today,
curious for tomorrow. It's impossible
to answer her gaze with anything
but promises of possibility
born of her - life's white hole. YellowYellow sunshine, and my sister's hair;
dyed lemon like the princesses
from my stories. She reads
to me while I fall into dreams,
lazy head in her lap.
Yellow laughter,
straight from the belly,
when my father spins me around
to the Radetzky March.
Yellow like the sound of
bare toes against rock
pools; plastic
bucket in hand and
salty air in nostrils
while searching for crabs.
Yellow, like that first, fresh
bite of melon
in the summer. Like
that time in Crete,
when me and mum
tried orange honey; tangy
and lip-smacking,
just like yellow.
Yellow is the suntan
on my shoulders and face
when I play outside;
yellow brings out
my freckles – mum
calls them angel kisses –
and they splatter me
like paint on a canvas.
Yellow are the faeries
on my wall – an illustration
from Glastonbury – when autumn
comes I run
through yellow grass,
brushing the blades
with my fingertips, and make
believe that faeries
follow me. Like
yellow.
 
cardio.each octopus has three hearts,
two to pump blood to the gills,
the other to pump
to the rest of the body.
such great efficiency that
if someone were to break their heart,
they'd still have two more tries
to get it right.
lying on our backs on the floor,
i think about us and marine life
and nothing while
I let my hands do the talking,
say the more important things.
and i trace his scars with my
fingers and mind,
red ropes of recovery,
resilience that's faded to pink.
when he tilts his head to the side
and waits for me to speak, i think
this is how i'll find you through the mess
the sea of bodies
someday when everyone's the same
and i only have one heart,
not two or three
and at that moment it pounds,
loves him with everything it has. FrictionLet me shatter your stony fortress, darling;
climb up your minute imperfections and rip off
the poison ivy that twisted
honeyed lies around your tongue and
bile-coated truths onto your fingers—
Let me hurt you where you don't want to feel, dearest;
oppose your every inhibition with my
lip-biting adrenaline dripping into your veins,
an IV of emotion and ink-drenched sunbursts
that you won't be able to retch out, this time—
Let me choke away your starlight, sweetheart;
hold you down with my toxic gravity
and cloud your polluted doe-eyes
with wrist-written promises
of sailing off into a vertical horizon—
Let me drown out your whispered screams, love;
steal your moonbreath as you sleep and wear out
each and every one
of your infallible excuses on my
sandpaper-plastered heartstrings—
Let me sweep you off your feet, angel;
burn away the asphyxiated ribbons of our past
and untie new aglet- and hesitation-less laces,
so maybe we can trip o the decline of dreams.She used to tell me stories. Crumbling, tea-stained tales that rushed through seas and parched deserts to grasp my hand and pull me away. They dropped me in empty dreamscapes, and I'd start building. I was just a child, but my mind was split open. The cracks spread wide and grew wider with her every word. I was filling up, swelling. Set to burst with all those possibilities.
When I closed my eyes, I saw a corridor - filled with doors. It vanished into the distance, endless. I could walk down it for days and never stop. I can still see it now, if I try. It's not as effortless as it once was. Every door led to a different world. The past. The future. A different planet. A different universe.
One was filled nothing but stars. I would drift, weightless, past the countless balls of flame that blazed through the night.
I noticed sometimes that nothingness lay behind some doors - absolutely nothing. Through the frame there was total darkness, or perfect whiteness. They were blank canvasses, w
ad astraI know your life doesn’t orbit around the solar system like mine does
and I should probably stop making references to the supernovas in your eyes
and the dark matter in my soul
but it’s hard to stop thinking about the universe
when I have “to the stars” etched into my spinal cord






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