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Literature Text
Her bedroom is white white white. Maps are plastered to
her walls, and furniture clings to the outskirts of her room for dear life.
She never goes in there, though.
There are: 147 DVD's on the shelf above her head, all of which
came with the room.
She has watched 138 out of them.
When she walks outside, all of the black thoughts in her head are
no longer lingering, no longer living inside their brain view apartment.
The pills she takes every morning have sucked them out like a good vacuum fairy.
Navigating the streets of her town, she prays she won't run into any school mates.
Trees and bushes shield her body from the strong winds that would blow her away
without them. Her arms are wound tight in sweaters every day. She even wears
them to bed now.
Her parents come home for lunch, and she is finishing her essay. They take her out
for Chinese, and she tells them made up stories, and they are ignorant of the tale's
origins.
When they leave, she is still fine, all because of the Magic Pills. But at night, after dinner,
their magic is no longer working.
Her mind is the enemy, and sleep is the safety blanket she yearns for.
It won't come, and she knows it.
her walls, and furniture clings to the outskirts of her room for dear life.
She never goes in there, though.
There are: 147 DVD's on the shelf above her head, all of which
came with the room.
She has watched 138 out of them.
When she walks outside, all of the black thoughts in her head are
no longer lingering, no longer living inside their brain view apartment.
The pills she takes every morning have sucked them out like a good vacuum fairy.
Navigating the streets of her town, she prays she won't run into any school mates.
Trees and bushes shield her body from the strong winds that would blow her away
without them. Her arms are wound tight in sweaters every day. She even wears
them to bed now.
Her parents come home for lunch, and she is finishing her essay. They take her out
for Chinese, and she tells them made up stories, and they are ignorant of the tale's
origins.
When they leave, she is still fine, all because of the Magic Pills. But at night, after dinner,
their magic is no longer working.
Her mind is the enemy, and sleep is the safety blanket she yearns for.
It won't come, and she knows it.
Literature
.
i avoid the eyes of people when i'm nervous
stare at spaces in between their eyelids
and let the conversation fade
or dissolve.
i don't know where to let my eyes rest
when you appear
in my head
around my bones
there's nowhere to look
except through you
Literature
fireweed
i have planted my city heart in the dust
and set it aflame.
my new one can taste the wind's origins,
it knows how to ponder heavy thoughts with dark clouds,
it knows the motives behind the rain drop's dances.
--
the sun was eating my skin but
no matter, i can regrow.
i could feel the quivering earth in the bees' hum and
the rhythm of each passing second in the ants' march.
i wanted to tell you i love you because
in all the beautiful expanses of raw earth and passion i have never seen a face so fine.
--
it is four at dawn and the world is tumbling,
lights and numbers are exploding,
we are dying,
time is not waiting.
Literature
Writer's Block
The numbers on my desk calendar started to blend together as my eyes began to close and I dozed off. I regained consciousness with a start, and I involuntarily slammed my hand down to what should have been my desk.
"Wh-where am I?"
"Oh my dear! We certainly weren't expecting you today; we would have cleaned up a bit. Heh, you see, we're having a bit of a well… technical difficulty." Said a round, rather pleasant woman wearing a polka-dot dress with a nametag simply saying "Dot."
I looked around; I was in a large, disorganized office with people and papers scrambling with bundles of copy paper. I grabbed a paper from the desk beside an
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Someone, please give me a hair transplant, because I have torn all of mine out writing this.
Is it possible to hate something so much you feel like a wave of hysterical laughing crying isn't too far away? Well, this is the cause of this horrible disease, and no one knows the cure.
But really - someone slap the golden brick from Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy in between my eyes, because I am suffering from writer's block. Still.
I hope your eyes don't bleed from reading this. I am off to go sob in the corner.
Is it possible to hate something so much you feel like a wave of hysterical laughing crying isn't too far away? Well, this is the cause of this horrible disease, and no one knows the cure.
But really - someone slap the golden brick from Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy in between my eyes, because I am suffering from writer's block. Still.
I hope your eyes don't bleed from reading this. I am off to go sob in the corner.
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