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Literature Text
She wore a scarf of roses,
And flew beyond the limits of my imagination,
She spun at speeds high enough to burn,
Patches of black into the jeweled floor.
She spoke with a lullaby, soft and sweet,
Almost as soft as her satin skin,
That brushed against me,
When she lost her sense of direction,
And fell into me, leaving me unsure,
Of where to move my hands,
Of how to hold her,
Without crushing her delicate bird bones,
For she looked so easy to snap,
So breakable, so lost.
So perfect, to me.
And all too soon, she'd compose herself
And fly away across the meadows,
Her honey eyes warm, her smile light,
Her laugh... Echoing in my ears,
Leaving them ringing,
long after she returned to the skies.
(Where I wished I could join her)
And flew beyond the limits of my imagination,
She spun at speeds high enough to burn,
Patches of black into the jeweled floor.
She spoke with a lullaby, soft and sweet,
Almost as soft as her satin skin,
That brushed against me,
When she lost her sense of direction,
And fell into me, leaving me unsure,
Of where to move my hands,
Of how to hold her,
Without crushing her delicate bird bones,
For she looked so easy to snap,
So breakable, so lost.
So perfect, to me.
And all too soon, she'd compose herself
And fly away across the meadows,
Her honey eyes warm, her smile light,
Her laugh... Echoing in my ears,
Leaving them ringing,
long after she returned to the skies.
(Where I wished I could join her)
Literature
nervosa.
i.
i was six years old the night my mother crept into my room, spread a second quilt on top of me, and began to quietly brush the hair of my barbies. she laid down on the cold wooden floor, one ear down - as if she could hear the small specks of dust moving across the downstairs hardwood.
"we're moving to waterford," she said, staring fondly at my lovingly-kept pocahontas doll. i hadn't seen her swipe it, and she played with the silky ends of the doll's purple-sewn hair in silence.
"i don't want to go," i told her, bleary-eyed and whining, "who wants to live in a place named after water? don't they have anything exciting to name it after?"
Literature
Drowning -scrapped-
She was gone
And a wave knocked me to my knees
And the tide swept me away
---
It's been months.
But this water's still fathomless
Still ice cold
A thousand white-hot needles
Still prickle my skin
And I can't feel my toes
My muscles still seize
From the effort of treading water
A chill works its way into my lungs
Paralyzing, choking
I'm suffocating on this brackish water
And I can't breathe
Oh, God, I can't breathe
Please
God, please
Let me fill my lungs with this icy dark
Let me stop treading water
I want to sink
I want to drown
Let me drown
Please, tell me it's over.
---
Not while I breathe with frozen lungs
Not w
Literature
Depression
This feeling, it pollutes my very core
Leaving it rotted and tearing apart piece after piece.
It is a black thing, corrupting everything it brushes against
Leaving me in a will drained state.
Depression; a tired rage or sadness
No one has come to understand.
A flash of pain follows every thought of family and friends,
Leaving me with my head in my hands begging for an end.
I have not a single word, not a flick of my tongue;
That can even come close to describing how I feel.
My whole body feels like it is cracking into pieces
Planning to leave me as nothing more than a face smiling in a frame.
I’ve turned all that I loved against m
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.
So today was a black day,
But dreams of you bring it all back.
So today was a black day,
But dreams of you bring it all back.
© 2012 - 2024 blood-red-ribbons
Comments4
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Beautiful!!!!
