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Literature Text
come here to find a story of the world lacking known tempered
bliss.
come here and you'll see
me crying.
leave before you feel me looking over a broken body and lovely
death.
leave looking over these scars
finding me.
don't forget to laugh at my pathetic worth because i still lay
unmoving.
tears always roll down eyes
seeing peace.
bliss.
come here and you'll see
me crying.
leave before you feel me looking over a broken body and lovely
death.
leave looking over these scars
finding me.
don't forget to laugh at my pathetic worth because i still lay
unmoving.
tears always roll down eyes
seeing peace.
Literature
Succumbing to Water
"Succumbing to Water"
A million snowflakes descending,
each one
different.
Which watery design
is your death?
Perhaps it is
the foamy monstrous walls
rising
rising
falling.
You're crushed by an ocean.
Or the river pulls and
you drift along.
Deaf ears don't hear
the resounding smash
of water
breaking like glass on deadly rocks.
Blind eyes refuse to see
the edge.
Maybe a drop of rain
touches you, tracing
a line on your face
and
you
Literature
Water
(Your POV)
It’s like liking a wine. A pure, alluring, irritating, mindless and lovely glass of wine. You get in the habit of one- not one like a drug , but still one to take you pretty over the edge. It’s tasty, mindless and your lost like a love lost fool. You get over it eventually, like you would with a past love or crush. What you need, what you want and always did was… water. The only thing that can cure you, ease you and give your mind relief is a glass of water. Because water is pure, healthy. It does not deceive your mind like other juices and illustrious things. It lets your mind breathe, think and live- it lets
Literature
Digging
Miriam always looked worse in hotel mirrors. There was something about the lighting in these places. Maybe it was the drying effect of the unfamiliar water or the biological washing powder on the sheets and towels. Maybe it was the aging effect of a full English breakfast every morning, clogging her arteries and colon, writ large across her pores.
Whatever the cause, a pallid, dry, wrinkle-faced hag with frizzy greying hair watched Miriam brush her teeth.
It was 6am according to her elderly Nokia. The wall clock in her room wasn’t working. She wasn’t sure what year it had stopped at roughly quarter past three, but the hands
we all have a story.
sit down
tell me yours
the sun soon sets
death is near.
(experiment poem)
sit down
tell me yours
the sun soon sets
death is near.
(experiment poem)
© 2001 - 2024 sanguru
Comments12
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"seeing peace..."
There is joy on the horizon in all lands...
umbilikal https://umbilikal.deviantart.com
deviantMAG staff - news editor
~where does the fist go when the hand opens~
There is joy on the horizon in all lands...
umbilikal https://umbilikal.deviantart.com deviantMAG staff - news editor~where does the fist go when the hand opens~