ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
I wish like others, I could cry
A river to flow from an eye
It is simply easier to disattach
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
I wish like others, I could scream
Agony burst out in a stream
To silence though: I am too attached
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
I wish, like others; I could feel
Or that my heart could truly unseal
To be without, always so unmatched
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
I wish this pain of lonliness
Not to all , but quite obvious
If only my mind could be mapped
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
A river to flow from an eye
It is simply easier to disattach
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
I wish like others, I could scream
Agony burst out in a stream
To silence though: I am too attached
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
I wish, like others; I could feel
Or that my heart could truly unseal
To be without, always so unmatched
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
I wish this pain of lonliness
Not to all , but quite obvious
If only my mind could be mapped
But I can't; So I am stuck, trapped
Literature
Night Terrors
The silence weighs heavily,
expanding around me, fog
I can't escape. The light
sweetness of the day, gone,
replaced by ugly loneliness
that whispers lies that could
almost be half-truths in the dark.
The blanket touches my skin,
irritant, my body writhes against
the tyranny of the sheets,
a lockbox of restless energy.
Lethargy replaced by wide-eyed
paranoia, a litany of worst case
scenarios, worries, what ifs.
My brain runs and runs and runs
until it overheats. I pass out in
a confused tangle of bed linens
and sweat, brow furrowed deep,
waiting for you to come home
to quiet the demons and make
it smooth once more.
Literature
Grief
The writer defies the empty page, and tears streaks of bitter frustration leaves his soul with a sigh of grief. He tries and tries and never bears fruit to anything. But his mind is troubled, his hands old, his eyes strained, Rage pours into his heart as peace and contentment leave his world. These frustrations only bear down upon us. He walks around his empty house as memories of sorrow arresting his once young heart weighs down upon him once again. The writer, now tired for the night with no fruition of his work goes straight to bed. He has a dream, a dream of wonder, excitement, passion. "AN INSPIRATION" he presumes. He wakes up in a flurr
Literature
Haiku
my fingers
tributaries -
running around your knuckles
Suggested Collections
© 2017 - 2024 gridtakno
Comments16
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
damn why is it not just me that goes through this crap being honest I'd rather it that way