I saw something
in the core of your eyes that night.
no matter the dark that surrounded the dampness of your lids,
I saw something and I knew, even with your grieved vision,
that you saw something too.
I can still see my breath when I go there,
under the old dying oak tree that reaches for the frozen lakes
that I last saw you at.
a hanging tree, I think.
the strength of skin could not be my fault.
A man could not stop an oak from growing,
even if he cuts it down.
and you found your roots in steel
the day I called you and told you that
I saw a light in you.
I did not beg or grovel,
not I a king to you an assassin
and so you went, not saying
I have searched the very depths of my being,
Seeking the essence of the void...
To understand its nature,
To become a part of nothing...
For where else can we be free of turmoil,
Where else can a beaten soul go to rest?
If not in the comforting embrace of eternal oblivion?
...
Such is what I seek, away from the noise that burns at my ears.
Away from the many voices that drill into my mind.
For these are not the whispers of psychosis,
Nor the delusions of a twisted psyche.
Instead they are the whispers that are heard all around us;
The whispers of the every-man.
He who desires the body of another.
He who desires the fat of his wallet.
He
Supporting Original Content Matters by ashvearts, journal
Supporting Original Content Matters
I really want to talk about this because it is very important to me. This isn’t just for me, though, but for all the creators I know and love and wish nothing but the best for.
dA is full of variety and talent, from beginners to experts, to casual artists to professionals. However, it is hard, in the midst of all this, to be recognized for original characters and stories. Yes, a good artist can gain more watchers on the art alone, but what about the learners and in-betweeners? And, what about those people who DO have a following, but the fans are more interested in the artwork and not the history/story behind them?
Whether the person
Oh how I hate the stars by CrumbledWings, literature
Literature
Oh how I hate the stars
Oh how I hate the stars
plaguing me each night
with cruel honesty
of their light
of how they hang
so far away,
nooses choking my hopes
with all they weigh.
Oh, how the stars hate me
waiting patiently
to shoot through,
and away from me
carrying with them
wishes I'll never see.
Oh stars
how the horrors of your light
blind me when I look to you
for something each night.
But with the coming of each day
I always forget
and every night
I'm forced to regret
when I look to your light.
Oh, how the stars hate me
and how I hate the stars
for the things which I see.
When the lights snap out
do you think of my breath,
a hot map
between your shoulders,
disturbing memories
and asking questions
like we did in school?
How many times has my image
slipped between your sheets
and kept you at the window,
counting stars and cars,
the highway owning us both.
I would kiss your pulse -
drink you down
in those thick gulps
that made you spin
and grasp my fingers
to keep us both
from falling.
Taboo Tattoos and Lesbians by Emerald-Alexandria, literature
Literature
Taboo Tattoos and Lesbians
My mother used to tell me,
As she took a long drag of stale nicotine,
That I should stay away from lesbians,
Because they would make me take up smoking.
What she didn't know
Was that I thought cigarettes would make me skinny.
And thus,
My unfounded and irrational
Fear and attraction to the utterly beautiful was born.
I had fallen for breasts before I grew my own,
and took to the internet with my misguided teachings,
as so many seem to do.
And there, in a ten-year-old's Google search for “sexy boobies”,
I found my first love.
A nameless ivory queen with a butterfly under her chest, and a tree branch on her ribs.
Similar to
And Now She Flirts With Death by HurtingToBeAWriter, literature
Literature
And Now She Flirts With Death
Do you remember the quiet girl you sat behind in 3rd grade
The tall one with the braid
She’s not the same anymore
And now she flirts with death
Instead of boys
Oh that little girl she’s not the same
The little girl you knew in 4th grade
The one who always prayed
She’s not the same anymore
And now she flirts with death
Instead of boys
Oh that little girl she’s not the same
That little girl you liked in 5th grade
The one whose day you always made
She’s not the same anymore
And now she flirts with death
Instead of boys
Oh that little girl she’s not the same
That little girl
Oh she’s got a drawer fu
Cycle of the Dark Side by HurtingToBeAWriter, literature
Literature
Cycle of the Dark Side
She cried herself to sleep last night
The same girl you laughed at yesterday
She sliced her wrist this morning
Because you called her an attention loving freak
She didn’t eat lunch today
She overheard you call her fat
You saw her popping pills and called her a drugie
She needs those pills to keep her from killing herself
She stopped taking those pills
She stopped eating
She just cut
She killed herself last night
You’re not responsible
But you feel guilty
You feel worthless
You chose to make those comments
You cut tonight
You don’t eat tomorrow
You killed yourself
Because of the girl you insulted
You couldn’t shake t