ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
and the headlines everywhere will read
"eager electron boy
potentially energetic"
they'll talk for pages,
the journalists-
paragraphs about his exploits,
which element he's seeing,
where's next in his orbit
but he told me the real story
he said he wants to step down
and relinquish his sweet sorrow
so that everyone can see
his true colors, and
whether they're hidden or whether they glow
they're there and i can't ignore that
no matter how much i want to
"enervated electron boys
compose my being,
live lies, lament"
"eager electron boy
potentially energetic"
they'll talk for pages,
the journalists-
paragraphs about his exploits,
which element he's seeing,
where's next in his orbit
but he told me the real story
he said he wants to step down
and relinquish his sweet sorrow
so that everyone can see
his true colors, and
whether they're hidden or whether they glow
they're there and i can't ignore that
no matter how much i want to
"enervated electron boys
compose my being,
live lies, lament"
Literature
This is Our Place
This is Our Place something broke a hole in the barrier; then some event occurred and its memory, still racing toward us in the tunnel called out and sank below our line of sight, when all the bridges between us collapsed there’s nothing here for any of you, there never was never a safe place to dream the wrong thing about the wrong person; but this is our place where the present is built from an engineered gas that expands before you to let you pass through it and contracts, back into solid, behind you this is our place and i’m only here, because like you, i’ve always been here; preserving our intersection of wrong place and time all our possible paths lead here and fold and fill in solidly behind us
Literature
The Fading, Muted Lamps We Are
The Fading, Muted Lamps We Are there’s a place, besides this one one where we actually belong and it’s not that we’re unneeded there but, perhaps here is not yet ruined enough for those who’ll deserve it next things move in cycles just like how the dead don’t stay in the clothes we bury them in, in either place and there will, eventually be nothing left of the cities where they, and we, lived much of our lives lives clothed in nothing but a collective memory of pedestrian frictions and a ragged grasp of cause and effect there is a link between how long you live and how long you wait to admit you don’t want to and it’s a black hole strung somewhere between the stars we think resemble us and the fading, muted lamps we are our memory burns slowly not like stars, but cooler and louder like blood rushing back into the oxygen-starved set of vessels we pilot things move, with or without us
Literature
howl
Howl
Through leagues
Of old and
Proud white oaken trees
Wind
Suggested Collections
© 2015 - 2024 blanketings
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In