ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
a cigar-store solipsist
stuffing towels in doorways,
i was crowned prince asphyxia;
oh, do not fall in love with
dead boys - you can't make
martyrs out of suicide drones.
stuffing towels in doorways,
i was crowned prince asphyxia;
oh, do not fall in love with
dead boys - you can't make
martyrs out of suicide drones.
Literature
And There Was Light
i.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
ii.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
air out.
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before&mdas
Literature
Another Language called English
I took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particul
Literature
Burning Out, and Falling Fast
You're sitting in your parents' old corvette (if you had bothered to check, you'd know it was older than you), flicking your eyes between a lighter in one hand, and a box of matches in the other. You forget when fire became such a need, a distraction.
Spencer is right beside you in the car, his fingers stroking idly at your forearm, watching you with hooded green eyes.
"If you want to die," he says, "then just kill yourself, but do it with style."
Pause. Rewind.
You met The Boy Under the Sycamore Tree when you were four. Your mom encouraged you to go see the lonely boy, and when you
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
full title: i speak too fast for necromancy, but i've got all the god complex.
i should've kept my goddamn mouth shut
i should've kept my goddamn mouth shut
Comments27
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
i keep coming back to this, not sure how often i've re-read it. probably more times than anything else you've written.
i'm just so glad that it didn't turn out to be a "self-fulfilling prophecy" uh
i'm just so glad that it didn't turn out to be a "self-fulfilling prophecy" uh