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!
vexedoften, they arrived like cats,
landing sore pawed on the tarmac in angry eczemas,
puncture repair kits protruding from their blazer pockets
exhale, exhale, exhale:
plush toys, labradors, scraps of linoleum and old teeth filled with amalgam
the dog unsleeping itself from the rubber bone,
paused in a broken VCR
an eyelash bruising his cinematography
a blush of scrubbed throats,
and stuffed bastards
the engine oil of father's brylcream emptied into castrols
under the obligation of the rain
chernobylBetween the pieces that fell just outside the plaything box and the shoes scattered in setting dust, music stopped being useful. Spilt ink stopped being poetic when people became afraid to touch the paper. Spider web cracks through fear and superstition turn quiet steps to romping laughs and messed up jokes behind an engineer's wrench and a countdown to ignition.
The simple solitary notion of destruction is enough to silence the birds and send silken shivers up through skin of mortal daemons who don't truly understand the fear they witness. Somewhere along the lines of peace and taxation I lost sight of who or what we could possibly be fight
AngstGlancing at the time wont make it go faster.
Both thumbs aligned and being fiddled with constantly.
It’s like you have an itch to scratch but you can’t reach it.
Your body over flows with delirium and your pores sweat
Angst creeps slower and slower towards you.
Your time runs out and you are left with guilt written
all over yourself.
The Lifeless of the PartyIf I back up any farther my
bones will become part of this place,
I'll mold myself to the paint and
plaster my skin to its base.
At least then when their gaze sweeps by,
they can admire the pale tone
and whisper about the wall decorations
instead of my expression set in stone.
Through the obnoxious music I can hear
a guitar strumming softly outside,
beckoning my body to escape the drones
and find the human that seems to hide.
Don't cry my love, don't cry no more
A voice trembles across the terrace,
and leaves a smoky trail to the trees.
Head hung slightly and plucking strings
whose sorrow brings me to my knees.
Reasons For LeavingBed heavy,
I can feel your chest move
as I find myself immobile by your side.
Loud feet shuffle upstairs
and the dogs are barking again.
Your alarm chimes the morning time
and you ignore it as you turn over.
The blankets twist together as I pull them closer
and I can hear your mother warming up her lungs
for the oncoming battle of plucking you from sleep.
Desperate to avoid conflict
and the fact that I can hold my bladder no longer,
I hide my makeupless face in the corners of your bathroom.
I can hear you begin to rise and gather yourself together
as I limp back to bed for two more hours of rest.
NamesakeI know what Julius Caesar had in mind
When he made his namesake July
He pictured late nights that bleed
Into sepia toned mornings
Ending with the turn of a key
A stumble to a home
Make up drippings run to the floor
Melting off of you like a Dali clock
Sandals hang from tight fists
Dirty feet tiptoe into bed
Greasy hair tangles
And a grin brighter than the sun rise
breakup breakdowni rarely touch
those seven digits
that make the voice
on the other end
a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crash
that almost killed her,
through whitewhite walls
where her lover dies
nobody thought she'd make it
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway
trying to remember how to start all over
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.
shiver.Rocky ledge and coated edge
of enclosed infinity.
Missing you alone and empty, jump --
a house of broken people is all that's left.
And in the end it all comes down to this:
adrenaline fights the elsewhere,
wind destroys the avalanches
which we built upon empires lost.
March past the gates of Hell, my love
and don't forget to ask the time of the devil;
f-stop 68 and blurred edges,
our focus falls directly on the vacant black.
Space's vastness holds vessels to promises
and we float in a boat made of paper cranes.
Your bullets caress the dying, O Lord;
trickling down their souls,
anaemic grey eyes, holl
catharsis.oh no not another dead body, i am so sick of digging graves, i am so sick of wearing black, i am so sick of other people crying about the loss of someone they never really noticed was alive in the first place, i am so sick of this but you aren't allowed to beg off a funeral, you aren't allowed to take leave of mourning, that's not how this works, there are standards to be upheld, expectations to follow, someone else's footsteps to tread in like they aren't the wrong size, the wrong pace, the wrong way, i am so sick of going the wrong way, of not being allowed to own up to being lost, of being lost, of not being allowed to own up, oh no, not a