ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The people who hurt us, do they feel like we do?
Do they feel ugly and worthless in their skin like we do?
When they ache are their thoughts a bruised purple-blue
or are their brains always full of those rainbow-esque hues?
Do they suffer with the things that we're going through?
Or are they always indifferent to the sanity unglued?
Those people we hate, can we feel their pain?
Do we know of their nail-biting sorrow and shame?
Are we driven to cruelty by cruelty they gave?
Or is rage bred within, in its own iron cage?
And why do we hate?- Because we're not the same?
Or simply because they're unwilling to change?
Do they feel ugly and worthless in their skin like we do?
When they ache are their thoughts a bruised purple-blue
or are their brains always full of those rainbow-esque hues?
Do they suffer with the things that we're going through?
Or are they always indifferent to the sanity unglued?
Those people we hate, can we feel their pain?
Do we know of their nail-biting sorrow and shame?
Are we driven to cruelty by cruelty they gave?
Or is rage bred within, in its own iron cage?
And why do we hate?- Because we're not the same?
Or simply because they're unwilling to change?
Literature
picture death.
I couldn’t bring myself to bury her.
I couldn’t bring myself to empty the ground of dirt and of earthworms and of the spindly weed roots, and fill in the ochre gap with her body. Her coffee-cream fur held her tiny skeleton from falling out when they hit her. I try not to think of miniature beat-less hearts and mute lungs. I never saw her dead, but I can imagine.
They found her on the median strip. Breathless and still by the endless whoosh of traffic.
In my mind I see Mum’s face; I see her heart throbbing at her feet and her cradling the dog, like a precious baby to her chest. I see the love flowing down her withered cheeks
Literature
sick
Death slouches over the edge of her bed, licking his lips as he caresses her thighs. He sings the noise of wind and rain crashing all around and her head throbs with the sound. Her head is hot. Her forehead is on fire and her cheeks catch alight with it. She burns silently and sees red, red, black.
Tiny insects have crawled beneath her fingernails and they dig with tiny claws and teeth until they are swarming beneath her skin, biting outward at her flesh. Each vertebrae carries bruises and as she tosses her body about the bed they ache loudly and sharply.
All the heat has rushed to her face, her body shakes like a leaf in wind and goosebump
Literature
living in your lies
dear girl—
it’s like you don’t even know you anymore. and when people talk about you, it’s almost as if you have no idea who they’re speaking about or whether any of what they say is true. it’s to the point where you started avoiding mirrors or catching your own eye in the reflection of windows, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. maybe your hair’s a mess and your clothes don’t match, but at least you can keep pretending that you’re not uncomfortable in your own skin. you’ve become a stranger and it scares you since you’ve always been most afraid of the things you don
Suggested Collections
Thinking about it.
© 2008 - 2024 AGoddessFinch
Comments60
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
i DON'T CARE