To you who write until you bleed and cry and die by Milk-and-Pie, literature
Literature
To you who write until you bleed and cry and die
i. You aren't the ruins of Greece.
You don't combust into fascination when the black
rose you planted years ago finally bloom and poison
your veins and stop your heart beat in black splotches
and dirty grenade. The Earth won't mould trees or
ocean or clouds into your image when rust seeps into
your wrist, turning you into a sculpture of grey hands
and silver blood. You won't smile knowing a spider is
creeping up your throat, spider webbing your tongue and robbing your voice away.
ii. You can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails.
You don't have to get why your wounds rot like
the speed of a full-on hail storm and why others
Suicides Learning To Speak by Rosary0fSighs, literature
Literature
Suicides Learning To Speak
It’s 6 a.m. A girl is beginning the journey back from Oz, anchored to life by the whirr and beep of machines and tubes. Above her emaciated body, nurses pace, write on clipboards, click their heels and purse their lips. She is oblivious. Her mind drifts in freefall, stuck in an eggshell skull wrapped in nasal gastric tubing and an oxygen pipe forced down her throat like a synthetic umbilical cord. Somewhere, neurotransmitters are sewing themselves back into conscious awareness. There is a person lost somewhere in that body. There is a mind overboard in a black sea, sending up a flare. The nurses are afraid that she will stay in there fo
In this empty room
We stand together
In silence
In the darkness
Our shattered hearts
Bleeding together as one
While the blood runs
Through our cold skin
This is what love is like
Two broken people
Sharing their pain
Merging their empty souls
We forget about the world
Because we live in a world of our own
United as one
In an illusion of happiness
The Myth of Talent
If there's one comment that is made more often than any other on any decent piece of artwork it's "you're so talented."
It's also the one [positively intended] comment I've seen the most artists bristle at, sometimes even retort. For some of us, it's a pet hate. Why?
We know it's meant as a compliment, so we smile and say thank you and try to resist the urge to insist that 'talent' is the biggest myth there is. Not only is it a myth, at its worst the use of the word is potentially destructive to the artistic community.
What's so wrong with the word 'talent'?
You might not realise it, but calling someone talented can ofte
I saw that.
The way the words
stuck in the back of your throat like glue.
The way you held your tongue
for fear of ridicule if you spoke up for yourself.
The way the syllables gushed from their mouths,
a torrent of excuses,
when they did you wrong
because you didn't make your own case
and you should have been more forceful.
I saw that.
And I've been there, I've lived it.
I know it's hard to let their criticism
roll off your back when
they've already knocked you
flat on your face.
But I saw that.
And I won't let you fight it alone.
My lover has water running through her veins by Dyemelikeasunset, literature
Literature
My lover has water running through her veins
She flows around stone and quenches fires
her voice showers like rain on a spring night
and feels so gentle that people misunderstand
They mistake water for weakness
and she indiscriminately swallows garbage
letting words stagnate and pollute her
She tells me ”Baby, I don’t have that passion you do
your fire is so wonderful and brilliant”
and I want to cry because even water can sear and turn to steam
My oceanbaby, you don’t need the tiny flame in me
the sea is home to the largest creatures in the world
and rivers reduce mountains to sandstone
I want you to roar like crashing waves
and let the world know you have t
I open my eyes. All I can see is darkness, though. No, wait, my eyes are adjusting, I can see some objects now; am I on the floor? I turn my head slowly to the side, and wince in pain a little. My body feels sore all over, why do I feel this way? I . . . I can’t remember . . .
I see there’s someone lying next to me, on the floor as well. My eyes try to adjust to the dark light to see who it is. This guy, he looks kind of familiar . . . but I can’t quite put my finger on who he is and . . . dear god, is that blood!?
Ignoring the soreness of my muscles I quickly scoot away from him, and he doesn’t mov
1. The first time I found God
Was when I was 15.
I found God in a pen.
I scribbled down words
And he brought them to life.
2. They found God in their phone.
Instead of handling the awkwardness
Of the party,
They prayed to God to get them out.
3. He found God in his paycheck.
He locks himself in his office
As if it was a church,
Hoping to see God again.
I think I saw him praying
Last week when I visited.
4. She found God
In the mirror.
When she looked at God
In the eyes,
She freaked out
And punched the mirror until it shattered.
The devil put his hand over
Her fist and told her it’ll be alright.
5. They found God in each other.
I
There's a devil in my bottle by CrumbledWings, literature
Literature
There's a devil in my bottle
There's a devil in my bottle
he's offering me a trade
one singeing little sip
and he'll burn my memories away,
and I let him burn
the remnants of it down
and from his little bottle
I began to drown.
There's a devil at my doorstep
he's offering me a deal
if I burn it to the ground
my sadness he will steal
and I let him in
to take from me
all the things I don't want
or can't agree
to keep.
There's a devil on my shoulder
he's giving me choice
let life drain what's left
or pull the trigger just once
and I want to listen to him
what else should I do
the devil's already here
so hell must be here too.
There's a devil in my heart
he likes to speak t