ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
She's always written down her dreams, except sometimes she can't remember them. She leaves a blank space in her journal, a blank hole in her memory.
It kills her to forget her dreams. It feels like she is slowly losing her memories, ones tucked away on the highest shelf in her mind, and it scares her that she can no longer reach it.
She's lost herself in the caverns of her mind, spaces created for the lost dreams. Caverns that will always remain empty.
But she isn't losing her memory. She isn't even growing old yet.
She creates caverns and journals for her dreams. But soon, there are more empty spaces than
filled ones, her memory falters and her imagination slows.
And then they are all empty. Her dreams, her journal, her mind.
It kills her to forget her dreams. It feels like she is slowly losing her memories, ones tucked away on the highest shelf in her mind, and it scares her that she can no longer reach it.
She's lost herself in the caverns of her mind, spaces created for the lost dreams. Caverns that will always remain empty.
But she isn't losing her memory. She isn't even growing old yet.
She creates caverns and journals for her dreams. But soon, there are more empty spaces than
filled ones, her memory falters and her imagination slows.
And then they are all empty. Her dreams, her journal, her mind.
Literature
don't look back - oh.
before the
before, face it,
there were faces indelible,
the viscosity of
tar in his voice...
tar on his coarse fingers;
like everywhere
in everything
there was the sacred drunkard illuminating
a way...
when i hid by the bucket and
nettle brushed my shoulder, the poison
was slow;
(in reality, he
ran his cows over with a tractor and there
the sacredness should have ended;
didn't;
before the before there was gnarled bark
off unidentified trees
whispering by the river,
rough to the touch
i would spread out my fingers
fascinated by the splinters
now it is morning and i re
Literature
oh baby please, don't go.
i.
you're half-awake, entangled in the covers and he's nowhere near you. groggy, disoriented and very much hating life, you stumble to the door of your room and wrench it open, only to see a vast expanse of sky and nothing else below. you blink twice before you feel your stomach heave. you never knew you had a fear of heights.
ii.
when it finally dawns on you that your room is hovering somewhere in the atmosphere, you settle down on the edge of your bed and wonder if you're dead. in all honesty, you wouldn't mind being dead. besides, there's nothing to live for, is there? you look at the corner of the bedspread that you've been playing wit
Literature
that's why it's vulgar
trust me. i'm a product of
two, eating at the eyes that
watch me from
collars hanging neatly,
barely, plainly behind
curtained closets.
and trust me, i've
written thousands of words
to replace the hard skeleton
missing at the curve of your back.
you broke each section at the
greeting of a new word gurgling
at the hollow of your throat--
each new disease tickling you
inside-out, your neurosis
peaking pretentiously,
aching at cameras
and gesticulating at the
sight of highways
spelling your death in
a matter of seconds.
run, jump, cracked,
quick roped.
so, at this sudden branching
of spite and malice
from
Suggested Collections
I've gotten lazy with these descriptions.
© 2012 - 2024 xthe-eleanorx
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In