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Literature Text
He was a tad too much on the anachronistic side and I was almost rudely schizophrenic. He taught me that touch was a gift only death could bring for me. So I swam through film strips caked with silver bromide, that made my eyes red and smelled the way water does when you know you're going to drown, to leap towards this friend - this world - I was too far from to experience.
He felt my veins bulge - so transparent, so prominent - every time my fingers would mischievously curl into a fist in his luscious chocolatey locks. He would loosen and play with them as he would with stray strands of hair. When I would tell him that it hurt too much, he would say that anxiety is a luxury only the insane deserve. So I decided it was too late to stop trying to stay here and plummeted down faster than I probably should have.
He was more than my thoughts could conceive in a laid out algorithm. He was a slave and a mentor to only my desire. He was too chivalrous, too light-hearted and too much of me for him to be okay with existing. Though he taught me so much, I only taught him how to taunt and question; how to disfigure happiness in a way, even misery didn't resemble the outcome.
He was my almost; the only one who could not possibly make me ache. He would leave when I wanted him to and crawl back to me when I did not feel the need to apologize. He was my flesh hammock on days the sun didn't feel like rising nor the rain wanting to stop. He could insert periods in verbose sentences and say writing was never my calling; he was.
He was not corporeal. And most of him had no will (rather my will) to be. He wished for nothing more than to depart from what seemed like the end of me. He never wanted to be there when it happened. He wanted me to be whole and fixed on a reality that was going to end anyway. He taught me that good things never came to those who wait. In fact, they had to be snatched and so did I. But he couldn't decide which he wanted more; me or my life. He just didn't know that my end was his beginning - his being alive.
He was light of emotion but too taut of looks. His face only wrinkled when I seemed to worry him with my loosened grip on insanity. He wanted me just as tight as the hair pulled behind his head; like the noose hung from my ceiling just as I stepped off the desk. He wanted me his, and I wasn't sure if I wanted him mine. So when our lessons were learnt, we swam in vintage film to a place of more pursuit than opportunities.
He could not show me the difference.
He felt my veins bulge - so transparent, so prominent - every time my fingers would mischievously curl into a fist in his luscious chocolatey locks. He would loosen and play with them as he would with stray strands of hair. When I would tell him that it hurt too much, he would say that anxiety is a luxury only the insane deserve. So I decided it was too late to stop trying to stay here and plummeted down faster than I probably should have.
He was more than my thoughts could conceive in a laid out algorithm. He was a slave and a mentor to only my desire. He was too chivalrous, too light-hearted and too much of me for him to be okay with existing. Though he taught me so much, I only taught him how to taunt and question; how to disfigure happiness in a way, even misery didn't resemble the outcome.
He was my almost; the only one who could not possibly make me ache. He would leave when I wanted him to and crawl back to me when I did not feel the need to apologize. He was my flesh hammock on days the sun didn't feel like rising nor the rain wanting to stop. He could insert periods in verbose sentences and say writing was never my calling; he was.
He was not corporeal. And most of him had no will (rather my will) to be. He wished for nothing more than to depart from what seemed like the end of me. He never wanted to be there when it happened. He wanted me to be whole and fixed on a reality that was going to end anyway. He taught me that good things never came to those who wait. In fact, they had to be snatched and so did I. But he couldn't decide which he wanted more; me or my life. He just didn't know that my end was his beginning - his being alive.
He was light of emotion but too taut of looks. His face only wrinkled when I seemed to worry him with my loosened grip on insanity. He wanted me just as tight as the hair pulled behind his head; like the noose hung from my ceiling just as I stepped off the desk. He wanted me his, and I wasn't sure if I wanted him mine. So when our lessons were learnt, we swam in vintage film to a place of more pursuit than opportunities.
He could not show me the difference.
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Literature
Reddist
Before you, there were women
with full breasts,
breasts with perk tips and beneath them:
hips wide as my hand spread,
but never love.
Athenas before you,
my eyes only followed the apples;
and then, suddenly:
A wild brook unleashed
and I never knew I was a basin
meant to be filled.
A woman sewn
from the smile of Coyote,
from the same hands that bent time
and created life for a laugh-
Apples became
the sweetest fruit; be my reddist-
I will love you madder
than a hatter and brasher than a miner.
Wilder for a gypsy.
Literature
Drizzling
The grey glaze of a
pre-dawn chorus —
blackbirds,
and an overcast aubade.
Literature
dreamergirl
The Last Time I saw you,
you were down in the dirt,
[literally] on hands and knees,
looking for the bit of magic
your father had promised was toiling
just underneath the surface.
You feel it, you whispered in
a cotton hush like the vibrancy
of your voice would intimidate the
dreams you scraped at beneath the
faultlines. Daddy never told a lie
[excluding the usual good things
come to those who wait, and 'tis better
to have loved and lost, and every end
is a new beginning]. You feel it,
you whispered, trembling at the hands
the same way you did for the Pills
that couldn't quite fix the Problem.
.
I never really understood all the ways
you
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I haven't been verbose in very long. So here, have a bit of past me with new me stories. I'd really like some feedback on this.
Is this too verbose?
Favourite line/part?
Grammatical errors?
reading done here: [link]
Is this too verbose? Favourite line/part? Grammatical errors?reading done here: [link]
Comments34
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I failed to comment on how much I love this the last time I read this. 