ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
sister,
you are the thinnest scrape
of southern sun. you are
ragged pieces of cheesecloth
ripped from a being more
ghost than girl, with
eyes like holes
dug deep and narrow to trap
deer skittering on
the very rims of
flight.
the world is stealing
light from the limpid
flicker of our uncertain
faith;
you say, "we can
either live well or
live happily". i
wish to slick your gaze
as a bookmark between these
pages we call palms, admit
that
i now understand why
justice is blind.
you are the thinnest scrape
of southern sun. you are
ragged pieces of cheesecloth
ripped from a being more
ghost than girl, with
eyes like holes
dug deep and narrow to trap
deer skittering on
the very rims of
flight.
the world is stealing
light from the limpid
flicker of our uncertain
faith;
you say, "we can
either live well or
live happily". i
wish to slick your gaze
as a bookmark between these
pages we call palms, admit
that
i now understand why
justice is blind.
Literature
you are only as good as your best distraction
the streets are coarse,
littered with short-haired women in creamy coats,
skin like jellyfish.
their eyes are the worst,
rimmed with the same rusted colour
as the spit that comes from their mouths
as they cast their iron hooks:
quiet smiles, snake words.
there is no one safe, least of all me.
my bones show, and the moon smiles down on me
as i press my knuckles into my shoulder blades,
pull fingers through my hair.
i totter into a quiet bar,
a strange alien bunch of silk and foamy pearls.
the room is profoundly comforting,
smoke rising in the dim light,
the ceaseless moans of a cello in the corner.
i make
Literature
I'd love to see the look...
real loneliness
is getting
high
solo
in your bedroom
marathoning
the first
season
of The
OC
on dvd
boy
I'd hate
to be
us
Literature
Can't See Past This Skyline
But we were kids back then, arrogance a weight
cocked on jutting hips and recklessness a riot
sleeping in our bones like summer suicide or the time
we peeled the skin from the sun as if it were dried-out orange peels
curling into fresh limbs
and ate the young fire to have something more than words
burning in our throats.
Yet in the end
our muddied hands gave the horizon back to the sky, because even then
something inside us had a passion for the empty spaces that ached and ached and
ached.
You said to me:
there's nothing like having a cold bottle of pills in hand, tipping forward
as you thumb the young, naked souls of griefless g
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
i have a tendency to worry too much and sometimes skin-to-skin is really the best form of liberation.
© 2010 - 2024 sliverofciel
Comments13
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
the thinnest scrape of southern sun
That's such delicious imagery. It made me shiver. You really end this with a punch, my friend.
That's such delicious imagery. It made me shiver. You really end this with a punch, my friend.