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dirtymotel
vomit-industries
Phisisturae
Literature
Heights
Within my ribs a mountain stands, peeks and squints at the outside. He knows he fills the cracks in me. I mourn the days when I could breathe. Some grand view will crown the heights and one day I will see.
Literature
Not worth 40 nights' insomnia
On a whim and glare he swathes this and that for me. I trust him completely, resting on his pengelum. What power does he hold? Do I whimper? Do I grin? He's all around. I can't escape, why would I want too? He is the escape. Am I brainwashed? Or perhaps just hopeful? He is hope. He is light. The book says so. But the book's old. You can't bring a man back to life. Yes you can, he did it. I didn't see it. Well he's not going to do it again. Wheres the proof? The miracles? Its a miracle your reading this. Its a miracle that I'm in this thousand watered, pixelated haven. Its a miracle when I realise that I'm quite pretty wh
Literature
DESTINY FAIL.
Charrie was a angel who danced on pinheads, she sat on tuffets dreaming of turrets. Saw whiteflags for cease fire. And tried to convince people that the louder the you shouted freak; the more she would grin. Jehiel was a tom cat who clawed at his throat, he white washed walls with obscene chalk, made sounds like a bugatti when he was happy and amused his friends when he practised at home. And then he met Charrie. Carrie made his days bloom with smiles that crept from the corners of her phrases. The way she tucked her hair behind her ears, and when she laughed when he did himself. These were all excuses to crawl up to her in physics and
Literature
Warriors
A leaf, a tumbling drum vaults across the cemented plain. Poised on the sparkling stretch, sultana eyes fixed on the raked ice and dunes of packed snow. Above the perilous splintered frost, a larder of the brave for all to raid. The warrior hops across, with wrinkled eyes, the puddles gripping and slipping off his feet. He wades into hell, flanked by comrades flapping and wheeling at the leaf clad fort. Shredding, scratching, slinging, looting, snapping. Cold coiling to strike. His guts worming around his own body. The winter still perched on his should like a white vulture. The scene is stirred. A warden clanks by and he repels the
Literature
Knitting.
Knitt, Knot, slip and weave. Patience ticking on. Knock, knot, slip and breathe. Follow my fingers; loop, seam, row, wrestle knitt, knot, slip and weave. Needles nudge n' nuzzle, Fingers loop and leap; Knock, knot, slip and breathe. Click and dive and pick, Rutt and gouge and slit. knitt, knot, slip and weave. Plesure in method, rythmic rehearsal, Knock, knot, slip and breathe. Beautiful production, A finale of fruition. Knitt, Knot, slip and weave. Knock, knot, slip and breathe.
Literature
COUNTING FRIENDS.
I'm counting friends the way I thumb pages and read ahead. I prefer being able to hold my friends, I'm old fashioned - nothing quite like the creaks of reading an old friend. Old fashioned rites are what my hands lack; laying a friend flat, paper settling, satisfaction the colour of pages - a distant brown. Satisfaction like a second look at a freshly rearranged bookshelf, and cats, sitting in windowsills, afternoons to yourself. There is an art in friends. Knowing them, just right.
Literature
Wrong and Me
Are you curious? Because you are all asking me very many questions. Questions I don't mind answering. There is nothing wrong with me. - I'm feeling fine, thank you, why? Most of the time I'm fine. I say mostly; everything can be improved. There is nothing wrong with me. - Can I see things your way? Because all these questions are getting to me. I'm beginning to question myself. Is there something wrong with me?

Imagine (Emetophobia) by TranslucentMirror, literature

Literature

Imagine (Emetophobia)

Something I wrote on a car ride home a while ago. Don't worry , I'm fine. Imagine waking up in the morning not caring about how it is, but imagining the worst to possibly come. Imagine walking into the bathroom and not feeling comfortable to do your routine until the lid was closed. Imagine having to plan out when to eat and fillers in between meals to make sure nothing bad happens. Imagine walking into school and seeing open garbage cans with people around them and starting to get paranoid Imagine someone not feeling well and saying it within a perimeter of you and suddenly loose control Imagine feeling as though you can't breathe and you

unquiet death by Phisisturae, literature

Literature

unquiet death

an unquiet death that scores the walls with red lines with maps of future lightening with embittered tally marks - who sleeps on straw and goes in the corner. it breathes - pulsing against all confinements. behind it, hold a candle, a future in the warm murk a shape of conquest. it flies towards your face and in the seconds you know it, you know it as well as how hard you can clench your eyes shut, as sharply as you are reminded your hands move like children, as the air is thin. look down, it walks as you walk - a she you pray for mockery and intimidation before the cruelty of design. the spaces between your fingers are unwashed and your

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