I have your number, SeabirdHis bathroom is small and bleak. The mirrorI have your number, Seabird by *glossolalias
shows your reflection in seven colors which
haven't been named on the red-blue-yellow
spectrum. Your eyes are shaking like eggs
and he hasn't said your name in a year. You
think of everything he calls you: Jay, Jaybird,
Rose if he's playful. He told you particles of
every man he's slept with are in the carpet
when he pulled your head back to look into
your pupils. Your eyes are black. They run,
raw and rotten from fluorescence overhead.
He told you the shrooms weren't the same.
If you don't like LSD, you might feel better
trying something more natural. It grows
like marijuana: from the ground. But
Flight LessonsTonight has been nothing but the last dregs of white coffee congealed at the bottom of a mug-turned-ashtray. I take a drag, cross-eyed to watch the cherry glow orange and grey-white ash collect at the quivering tip; my fingers are never quite still but I'm a confident type. People tell me I should be a politician. I tell them, I don't think you know me that well. But I can see where they get it. I'm a smooth talker. I take big steps, I rally words like cult members, but I'm just not suited to legitimate business.Flight Lessons by *glossolalias
I can't follow a schedule, I don't make commitments. I wake up in the afternoon and think about pornography and anarchism. It made
No Surprises, Pleasethis song has a presence like any otherNo Surprises, Please by *glossolalias
drugged out friend fashioning regrets
with just his own shaking hands and
a length of rope: hanging itself in the
windshield, beside the swinging rosary,
where it talks about its disorder and gets
ignored by the driver until its feet come off
the floor. i bust the door open, turn the control
dial, and count the bruises on its neck while it hangs
around mine, smoothing its plastic voice into my reception
like the night he showed me it and said, now it's going to be ours.
June 17thI take you as seriously as a writer as you take yourself.June 17th by `vespera
If you have something up on dA with tons of typos (spelling, capitalization, etc) and they are pointed out and your reaction is not to change them but to be like "oh well! it happens." you're not taking yourself very seriously. Why should I?
I would rather watch a developing writer, who's trying to learn, than a great but lazy writer.
Just food for thought.
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From my recent favorites:
The gift by ~sherbetblooms Siren by ~defectivebarbie
bird girl by *toxic-nebulae Morning! by ~GemDeDude you need to have a plan... by *disrhythmic
Oscarwilde by ~LadiShutterbug I can't help it by ~sherbetblooms Moon by *lalalandofclouds
Devious Journal Entry by ~this-epiphany FRENCH PEDAGOGY (glory to Zeus) by *lombregrise My Bunny Friend by *sebreg
12 going on 13my sister sent me this in the mail today. can i just say, i feel like i did a good job with her?12 going on 13 by *your-methamphetamine
If John Green wrote Harry Potter
-"My thoughts are memories I cannot fathom into a full patronus"
-"I fell in love the way Voldemort came into power: slowly, and then all at once"
-"If people were magical creatures I was a Blast-Ended Skrewt and she was a Hippogriff"
-"The important thing is not whatever nonsense the voices are saying,but how they got into the walls of Hogwarts"
-"Sometimes people don't understand the incantations they're making when they make them," I said. "Right, of course. But you make the incantation anyway. That's what magic is. Magic is making the incantation anyway."
-"…the existence of dementors does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate."
-"…And if the inevitability of Gryffindors winning the house cup worries you, I encourage y
Because fuzzy asked"White Out"Because fuzzy asked by ~one-in-hell
If I could live in a movie,
I'd live with Jim Carey,
and tell the nerds to do my head
instead of his, let my mind
be radiant and spotless too,
Like white out.
Sometimes, I pick up journals
I wrote in the starving days
after the sky fell and the rabbits
all died and covered me in gall
juices, and I'll take white out,
and brush over the letters,
feel the texture of the unlined
unfinished paper under the bristles,
and watch as the letters disappear,
like madness will slowly ebb
into an ache, until one day
you realize the madness was just
the pain and surprise everyone
feels when they first start to laugh,
and sanity is embracing the noise
and convulsions.
Sanity is laughing until you
white out, until you fall to dust,
and wake up with a journal half whitewashed,
and a headache.
moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:moonshines in georgia by =slowslicksnails
giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --
burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.
it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.
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46%
28%
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Sta.sh
