ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Be quiet, so quiet,
I can’t hear you speak,
Your words- they enrage me,
Pathetic and weak.
You’re nothing,
You’re no one,
A cold witless stare,
You’re so sad,
So dejected,
There’s nobody there.
You’re too thoughtful,
Stop caring,
I am sick of you now,
I don’t love you,
Don’t want you,
Don’t like you somehow.
So be mute,
Just to deafen,
The person I hate,
You’re just nothing,
Just no one,
A clean hollow slate.
I can’t hear you speak,
Your words- they enrage me,
Pathetic and weak.
You’re nothing,
You’re no one,
A cold witless stare,
You’re so sad,
So dejected,
There’s nobody there.
You’re too thoughtful,
Stop caring,
I am sick of you now,
I don’t love you,
Don’t want you,
Don’t like you somehow.
So be mute,
Just to deafen,
The person I hate,
You’re just nothing,
Just no one,
A clean hollow slate.
Literature
hush,
When Mae was born, the room was silent.
The mother, and her heart were torn up in the insanity that occupied her mind. Mae was not celebrated, showered with gifts and flowers. She was just, there.
As she grew up she realized that the only thing worse than dying too young was not existing at all. Or rather, existing in a world where no one knew your name.
On her thirteenth birthday she decided that blood was a beautiful colour and so she painted her eye lids with hemoglobin and blew out the candles.
With an aversion to loud noises and just sound in general, Mae made a cardboard box her home and called it Unit 9. Covering her ears, and cowe
Literature
sick
Death slouches over the edge of her bed, licking his lips as he caresses her thighs. He sings the noise of wind and rain crashing all around and her head throbs with the sound. Her head is hot. Her forehead is on fire and her cheeks catch alight with it. She burns silently and sees red, red, black.
Tiny insects have crawled beneath her fingernails and they dig with tiny claws and teeth until they are swarming beneath her skin, biting outward at her flesh. Each vertebrae carries bruises and as she tosses her body about the bed they ache loudly and sharply.
All the heat has rushed to her face, her body shakes like a leaf in wind and goosebump
Literature
We are the Word Thieves
We writers are criminals.
But we are the best kind of criminals.
We steal words.
We'll never be punished, for we are always needed. Whether through the speech of ever deceitful humans, or through the mute tongues of print and screen, we will always be there, working our many-pronged magic. Our swords are constantly out, skewering towards the alphabet with such regularity that the words stand proud, only to bow to our will, bleeding emotion to our clients.
For we are the Word Thieves, and the words are our quarry.
Even if the censors come and try to clamp us down, we'll disappear into the shadows and reveal our true beauty. It is here we
Suggested Collections
This is a flash I did prompted by, you guessed it - =XburiedinblackX. The prompt was 'Hush'.
Hope its ok guys.
Hope its ok guys.
© 2009 - 2024 kiwi-damnation
Comments42
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
wow. thtwas powerful. i love it! haha. i really do.